Second Chances
by Elle-ish
Summary: An unfortunate event brings the boys of Big Time Rush back together after losing touch for 4 long years. Except, things are different now. What's changed? Better yet- why? - After Big Time Rush, Angsty Kames, deals with drug and alcohol abuse, Cargan in later chapters.
1. Second Chance

Potential new fic? We'll see how this chapter goes first

So, lately a lot of drug themed movies have been playing on TV (The Basketball Dairies, Requiem for a Dream, Less Than Zero, etc.) so for about a month now I've been playing with the idea of one of the guys being addicted, and it increased into this... ya...

And I'm sorry for any possible errors that may come forth within this Chapter.

Warning: SAD themes. Drug and alcohol abuse, 1 character death (first chapter to get this story on a role), eventual stripper fic!, suggestive themes in later chapter and AGNSTY Kames (as always :p) and highly possible Cargan (as I love them with all my being, teehee!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush, or the song used in this Chapter called 'Second Chance' by Shinedown

* * *

Imagine a city so extravagant and vast that most can't even visit each street throughout their entire lifetime of residing within the city. The unknown impending on them as their lives writher away, never knowing what they're missing within each single street. Yet they don't notice, nor do they care. Most are happy in this land of the free and famous.

They're on the top of the world just like the bright lights of the Hollywood sign that hangs above their heads each night.

Now, try this. I want you to be the depths, the built structure of the skyscrapers. You're the eyes within the windows, watching the land just pass by, year by year. New buildings are made, others are destroyed. Modern turns into the past and technology takes over. The trees that used to be your friends fall to the ground to become the next billionaire's table. The weeds bloom and wilt in months, an army of single file ants crawl within the alleyways, covering the dead plant without a single glance. They make their way onto the abandon pieces of food within the green garbage bins, tearing away chunks of a decaying apple, and crawling away with it on their sculpted backs to feed their Queen.

Abandoned cats hiss at abandoned dogs as rats scamper by. These are the things you notice. The ones that are neglected by the pompous jerks who've taken over the land.

Their cars, all top speed and beautiful, remaining in the scorching heat and civil society in L.A, never going towards the darker, more bleak, more dangerous streets of the city they call home.

A man mugs another man, killing him with a sharpened knife. His blood spills into the cracks of the pavement, where a weed will bloom and die months later, where an apple will be thrown and left, where ants will take away it's remains to their queen, where the rich walk by and pretend to never notice, only for the cycle to circle around to its beginning once more.

This city eats itself and lives forever.

Now, imagine a boy so beautiful and so talented that the world used to be his oyster. You, the skyscraper, watch him day in and day out walking hopelessly on the streets filled with the people of the first class, begging for food.

You always notice his pale skin, his loosened clothing, the death in his eyes as he walks into that dungy gay striper's bar each night, leaving hours upon hours with yet another drunken, rich, fat brat who had everything handed to him.

You always notice the guilt that's hidden in his eyes. You never miss that hate he has for himself, the hate he hides so well from others as he falls into that _state_ he loves once again.

"_My eyes are open wide  
And by the way, I made it  
Through the day"_

Within your building, his voice, only four years before, rings through the radio. Girls with hair up continue their work at their desk. Men continue typing away, calculating numbers and filling in tablets on their pieces of paper to obtain money at the end of the day.

Few are at the coffee desk, taking a break and laughing with others. One girl even points out how old the song is, the one being played on the radio. No one even notices that the singer is right on their doorstep, looking around lost.

"_Tell my mother,  
Tell my father  
I've done the best I can"_

You hear them talking about what passed some many years ago. The so called scandal. The story, heard time and time again, is one that is never tiring as his voice fills the room.

"_To make them realize  
This is my life  
I hope they understand  
I'm not angry, I'm just saying..  
Sometimes goodbye  
Is a second chance."_

The story happened at the last ever Big Time Rush concert. At 20/21 years of age, their band was going their separate ways. That night, it was said that they performed their best concert ever.

Girls chanted in the seats, crying that their idols and favorite band were separating once and for all. All the members were going off to finish each of their individual dreams. So the fans, while upset, could not stay angry.

Kendall Knight was drafted as a forward for the Minnesota Wild. At 20 years old, he still had a full two decades left of his career, and many of the NHL teams tried their best at drafting him. The kid was known as a child prodigy at the sport, and was not to be missed out on.

Logan Mitchell was accepted into the University of Princeton, where he would begin his Pre-med program. He brought his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Camille Roberts, with him. According to the magazines that fill your break-rooms, they rented a penthouse suite near the university. Now a days, in recent news, he switched his university and moved back to L.A with his girlfriend in pursue of her acting career. He transferred to the campus of UCLA, where he was now finishing off his pre-med program as an intern at the local hospital.

Carlos Garcia attempted to meddle his way into the entertainment business, but found it to be a lost cause. Fame just wasn't the same without friends. Even if he was said to be one of the best and upcoming actors of his generation, acting and stunt work just wasn't for him. He moved to the other side of the United States, quite like Logan had. He moved to the small city of Daytona Bay, Florida, as he said it reminded him of a warm Sherwood, Minnesota. In his free time, he performed in local plays and even directed the most recent version of 'Sound of Music' in the town's core theatre. For the most part, he took up a volunteer program as a firefighter. The volunteering soon turned into a full-time job in which he was being paid for saving people. Carlos had always wanted to be a hero.

'_Tell my mother,  
Tell my father  
I've done the best I can  
To make them realize  
This is my life  
I hope they understand  
I'm not angry, I'm just saying...  
Sometimes goodbye  
Is a second chance"_

The scandal, you see, happened at the last ever concert of the last ever tour.

James Diamond was picked up for a solo album written entirely by himself. He was quoted by People magazine to be "The singer with the most vocal range through all of Hollywood."

He found that ludicrous. Worldwide, should be more like it. He could sing opera one second, and rap/beat box the next, and then perform a wonderful ballad, followed quickly by an upbeat musical number where he would have to dance.

Yes, it was known that the boy had range and loved his job.

On this night, only two weeks from debuting his single 'Second Chance', he decided to give the audience a little inside preview.

And by inside preview, that meant he sang the entire single for the loving audience.

"_Here's my chance  
This is my chance"_

At the concert, the note he sang had been powerful, long and overall beautiful. Perfect. He hit it just perfectly.

His friends stood behind him, smiles on their faces as he continued on with his own dream.

It was now just him in the limelight, and rumour had it that he had been scared of going solo. Fearful. But he never let it show.

"Tell my mother,  
Tell my father-"

He spotted her in the crowd during their Worldwide girl search in the audience prior.

She stood tall and emotionless as he sang his heart out. She was in an aisle seat, thankfully for his body and the lives of many fan girls.

He bounced his way towards the women, making an obvious dedication of the song to her.

"_I've done the best I can  
To make them realize  
This is my life"_

He made a gesture to the rest of the room at the words spoken. This was his life. The screaming fangirls. The sweaty, illuminated room to sing like an idiot around.

Even the rather scandalous behind-the-scene lifestyle that most celebrities seemed to live.

James Diamond kept that side of his life a secret, though.

"_I hope they understand  
I'm not angry, I'm just saying...  
Sometimes goodbye  
Is a second chance"_

The magazines blew up the next day after the concert. According to many various reporters, the woman held an angry fire in her eyes. She was extremely bitter that she had been pointed out, made a fool of and embarrassed.

Now, just imagine that you knew what she was thinking. How exactly she felt.

Imagine that she hated the life her son was living, and was angry that he shoved away her dream of James becoming the CEO of Brooke Diamond Cosmetics like it was nothing.

In James' mind, she had never supported his dream, so why should he support hers?

After the divorce with James' Father (in which his Dad left Brooke for a 15 year or so younger woman, leaving James alone with his enraged mother) the estranged relationship between Mother and Son was known by millions upon millions.

She never called, sent a card for his birthday or Christmas, never watched or read an interview, or came to his concerts.

Logan's parents and all of his grandparents went to the show in Austin, Texas.

Carlos' entire family of 30 (including various Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, second cousins, etc.) visited three shows during the tour. Springfield, Illinois. New York, New York. And lastly, Saint Paul, Minnesota.

Kendall's Mom and sister were along for the ride for the duration of their tour. Kendall's Dad, however, showed up in Saint Paul, Minnesota, alongside all of his grandparents. The entire family cheered him on in the front row.

And at that concert in L.A., James' mom finally showed up and was none too happy.

"_Sometimes goodbye  
Is a second chance.."_

The song ended, and James was huffing for breath, watching his Mother's eyes, almost begging for the nonexistent love to all of a sudden come alive.

It was said that the cold hearted women slapped him.

Hard.

The slap echoedthrough his microphone, making the _smack, smack, smack,_ grow quieter and quieter throughout the room.

It was obvious that it stung like a paper cut under cold water. Only, that wound delved much deeper than that of a shallow paper cut.

To James, it was like a finale. A devastating goodbye, sayonara, never to see each other again.

It was just so finalized, without any answers to James' questions being answered.

_Why are you here?_

_Did you at least enjoy it?_

_Can you please stay?_

_Please?_

_... No? Is it because you don't love me?_

_Is it because I'm not perfect?_

Through the cruel questions, the boy smirked. He had gotten his sweet, sweet revenge. He knew deep down that she didn't care, and this was his payback for love gone wrong.

With poison in her eyes she wretched away from his gaze. She sourly left her seat, rage written in her expression as she stomped with her stilettos out of the room.

"I love you, Mom." Was reported to be said by the boy, which only made the audience gasp further.

Then, James watched as the vile women was trying to avoid the chunks of spit and harsh words being shot her way.

He smiled sweetly towards the fans, waving before bouncing back onto stage, as if he wasn't disheartened by the open exhibition. The boys, although worried for their friend and the reddening mark on his cheek, regarded the audience, thanking them for letting them live 'the life'. If it hadn't been for them, the fans, they would never have been on the stage, living the dream.

They finished with three encores, and loved every moment of it.

That was the story. The was the 'Huge Scandal' of Big Time Rush.

Not very big in comparison of others.

And now, here that boy is, the one slapped by his own Mother at his last concert, 4 years later. The impending doom that was his 25th birthday just around the corner, and here he was lying against the wall of a fairly well known alley.

"Sugar," You see the older women say with decaying teeth, aloof hair and too thin and frail bones jutting out of her skin like a tree hit by thunder. She was skeletal, a walking dead person.

But she didn't frighten him like the dead people in video games, or others from the street. She was kind, pleasant. You could never trust people from the streets, but she was the closest thing to a friend the boy had.

Diane was her name.

An addict, who was giving him advice and comfort. "You're still young, you aren't too far gone yet. You can still get out."

Imagine, him thinking to himself 'I can't.'

"Drugs take over your life, you still have control. You can still make yourself a good life, escape all of this." With her shaky hands, she gestured around the darkened and cold alleyway, filled with other lost and temperamental souls that seemed so much like themselves.

Just imagine that this was now his reality. The golden boy who had everything going for him.

Only, you don't have to imagine. It's reality.

This is my reality now. Sometimes it's just easier to pretend that I'm a skyscraper.

That I'm only watching James Diamond. That this isn't really me. This isn't what I have become.

_It was._

And as she looked at me, my hand around the syringe and the ribbon around my arm trying to pop a vein, I couldn't help but wonder.

When did this become my life?

* * *

**(Kendall's POV)**

Just imagine a spectacle so strange it isn't even possible. Just imagine this, no matter how bizarre it may seem, just bare with me for a few seconds, alright?

In the night, a small pang can tear and break the pieces of the sky apart, like pieces of a puzzle. All the dark and soft blue hues alike will fall like tears of a waterfall from the sky. The stars will all have a race to see which can land on the ground first. As the sky falls apart, the world must go with it.

Falling. Falling. Falling. Into a blackened hole of nothing, to never be released in all of existence. Forgotten until the end of time. All of the deaths and rips began somewhere. It began with a single tear in the sky. The tear grew larger and larger until it fell. The weight of that was too much to bear for the earth, forcing it into a place of cold and nonexistence.

It's funny how one small tear can end the world. It can break something so insignificant, something so tiny in the grand scheme of things.

It's much like a human life. A single thing, a single word can tear you down, kill you until you're nothing. And you leave knowing you were never important in the grand scheme of things.

A single word is the tear. The repeated thoughts of that word is the tear becoming larger.

Then the someday that the world falls through that tear, is the day you fall into temptations, and begin your descent into madness.

I never let myself get like that, as far as I was concerned.

Sure, I had been called a pansy, boy band homo, and fag on multiple occasions on the ice. Sure, it hurt, but I never let it get to me.

_Yes I did._

I mean, why should I care about a few untalented fucks calling me a fag? It didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. I didn't let it get to me.

_Ya, that's why you're waking up with a hangover again..._

I remember how we used to sing ' This is Our Someday' like the blissful light from the heavens above were expanding onto the roads of our destinies. Or at least, that's what James use to say. He'd always been the dramatic and over exaggerated one of the group.

It seemed like such a long time ago when, in actuality, it was merely.. what was it.. eight years ago?

Eight years ago we started, and four fucking long years have passed since the break up.

Usually when you're of a certain age, four fricken long years could bring nothing. It could bring the day in and out of a dead end job, a hopeless marriage or no relationship at all, and maybe even an ungrateful teenager who hates your guts. It would be four years of the same thing, all day, every day.

Yet, when you're the ripe old age of 24, four fricken long years could be four fricken long years of constant change.

Changing schools, degrees, jobs, friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, houses, town, cities, cars. When your 24, it feels like the world is your oyster. You can stay out all night and stay up all day. Most spend their days inside of classes rooms, working their butts off to get a degree that may or may not even be useful to them in five years. They work summers at the local fast food joint just around the corner, and most consider themselves lucky if they can hook up a job at the supermarket in the upper part of town.

Livin' large, right? Constant change. Day in. Day out. Winter vs. Summer. Change. Change. Change.

I just happen to be one of those unlucky few who's life stops changing whilst still young. After the easy going break up of Big Time Rush, I was accepted into the Minnesota Wild.

Want to know something?

What I started out doing, I did because I loved. I got up every morning, excited and enthusiastic to get onto the rink, play the other team and score some goals. I woke up each morning wondering what the new thing of the day I would learn, would be.

Now? I don't understand where that enthusiasm came from. Better yet, where did it go?

It's just- It's the same thing each day. The same team, the same faces, the same yelling and distracting coach. The same showers. The same ice. The same sore ass losers calling me a fag.

_It didn't get to me._

Traveling. Not seeing my family. Not seeing my friends. And for what? Maybe being able to play 2, potentially 3 hours on the rink every other night on national TV?

This is my life now. I wouldn't say I'm discontent with it; Just bored.

I've lived my dream and prevailed it. Mastered it. What else is there to do?

I get up from my couch, instantly clutching the throbbing sides of my head.

I stumble over to the kitchen and take the three Tylenol that I lay discarded for myself in case of this event. I move the empty bottles of whiskey and the 'Fat Bastard' wine out of the way, pouring myself any type of liquid that didn't contain alcohol.

Seems easy, right?

Ya, it isn't.

Especially when all you have in your fridge is alcohol. Coolers. Beers. Wines. Rum. Scotch. Whiskey.

Sighing, I close the fridge and open my freezer – there might be a frozen juice box or something in there, right?- what I see only makes me groan further.

Why the hell is there a Long Island Iced Tea in here? I don't drink fuckin' Long Island Iced Tea. That was a fag's drink. I wasn't a fag!

_I was._

I guess I'm just going to have to take what God makes the best.

Water. Pure. Natural. Can't really go wrong there, huh?

I notice the calendar on the other side of the room, staring me down almost menacingly. It could be menacing, if I actually gave a shit.

There are a few X's crossed out with a red pen, marking today as 'The Day'. A horrible event, a tragedy struck. And it's up to me and Carlos to pick up the pieces.

Camille Roberts-Mitchell died two weeks ago, and it took this long for the funeral to be arranged. I tried my best to help over the phone, and Carlos even managed to take a few weeks off to help Logan with whatever he could. None of us could fathom the loss of a loved one since High School, a fiancée turned wife.

Ya, no one could fully understand, except for me.

Okay, being truthful, it never got to the 'fiancée turned wife/husband' stage for me... It never even got to the fiancée stage... or even relationship stage. It was always watch and protect and love from a far. Never touch. Touching would insure your demise, your death.

You'd ruin the friendship with him. He, even as androgynous as he was, was not, and I repeat, _not_ gay.

I could barely admit to myself that I was gay.

_Only a little, I swear._

I didn't want to, and I'm still disgusted and disturbed with myself today. Who really wants a dick in their ass? Who really wants to put their dick up someone's ass? Who really wants a dick in their mouth?

Fine, I'll say it. Apparently I do, and the dear thought makes bile rise in my throat. I just had to be the one to turn out gay, huh? I hate it! I'm a laughing stock. A hideous man!

I'm attracted to other males, there is obviously something wrong with me!

It's time like these when a shot of 'what-the-fuck-ever' sounds fantastic, but I can't go for it. I need to catch a flight. I have to be on my A-Game for Logan.

Me and Carlos both.

Of course, just me and Carlos. James disappeared. He vanished off of the face of the earth. His album didn't sell to well, and that was the last I heard of him.

Four fucking long years of unknowing.

He disconnected his phone, destroyed his laptop, sold his house, car and just left.

Just like that. No note. Not message. No nothing.

It's like he didn't even care.

Didn't he know how I still watched the news, or googled his name over a thousand times a day just to see if I could find anything new?

Didn't he know that Carlos sometimes bought a plane ticket so he could drive around L.A for hours, just searching?

Didn't he know that Logan still checked almost every hospital in the country, just to see if he could get an image close to his old, long-lost gone friend?

James left. He didn't want to be found.

_... But didn't he know that he took my heart along with him?_

Out loud I say fuck it, and grab a shot glass, immediately shooting the rest of my pure patron tequila that lay abandoned on the granite countertop near my sink.

Now all I have to do is wait.

If I'm lucky enough, I might just end up getting a small buzz.

* * *

The POV's will switch randomly from Chapter to chapter, but I'll always say whose talking as to not to confuse :p I had to for the first part of this because it was meant to be a surprise.

When I first wrote this, it was going to be James addicted, the other boys helping him get better, but then I thought, that isn't realistic! Everyone has their own problems, and I'm going for realism in this fic, not corny and cliché (probably later on, ya because, duh! It's me. Cliché and corny come naturally to me like fruit flies to honey. But for now, realism all the way!). And Kendall's POV came so freakishly easily, his character just kept building to this angry, frustrated, repressed alcohol homosexual, and as I was writing all I could think of was 'WTF!'. I have no idea where this came from :/ James was supposed to be the hardened one, but he came out more as a hopeless, self pitying, exhausted and yet still dreaming boy... Weird how characters turn out sometimes -_-

Okay, I might continue this story as I am very unsure of it. It depends on the possible feedback I might receive. If people like it, I'll go on. If you don't and find it incredibly boring (which is exceedingly probable considering the first few paragraphs :p) I won't. This is severely angst-ridden and not for everyone. So I can understand if people don't like it. Heheh, I'm a bit nervous... lolz.

What did ya think? Good? Bad? Horrible, cliché, and boring? Tell me!


	2. I Dreamed a Dream

Hello! This isn't the best written chapter and it's probaby reaaaally boring, as I have to just develop characters and plot slowly, which kills me! It's better when it's done that way, I find, but I just suck at it :p I want to say everything and anything all at once :p This also might lead to a lot of questions. I'm sorry if thats the case :(

Thank you to **Love Announcement** (Thank you for the review!, hopefully you like where this potentially goes? And... actually? like.. How similiar is it, just kinda or a lot? Just cause, I like to go for unique and not.. normal? I tried to find it on FF. Net but couldn't. Do you know if it's been deleted or something? Anyways, mild freak out there, thanks for the review!), **amrice101** (AWWW! Thaaaaank you! Nowhere close to pros, but I love the compliment nonetheless! SO thank you, and I hope you continue enjoying it as much as you seem to now! Thank you!), and **Just Fetching** (Thank you! I was aiming for all of those! And James doesn't come back into the boys for a little bit (and by little bit, I'll admit within the next 1-3 chapters he'll be back ;P), but there's kind of a twist with that, so I'm excited to see what you and everyone else thinks of it! And lets hope its great :P I'm exceedingly nervous about this one, so I'm not sure if it will be great, just due to nerves, but hopefully! Buut, great in my books is just finishing it, which should be no problem, haha! Also, thank you for your review to my other fic, In the Eyes of the Lord! It meant a lot to me! :) :) :) )

And also thank you to 0verdramatic, abby1234, zoebeansmommy, Just Fetching, and amrice101 for all the alerts and favorites! Thank guys!

Warning: Sadness, Kendall and Logan angst, and potential of many grammatical errors is high :P

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(Kendall's POV)**

Here I am waiting at the airport near the baggage claim, watching clattering lives walk past me. Chirp, chirp, chirping away.

Everyone seems so happy to be with one another. No one is standing alone like an idiot, waiting for their luggage to be dragged in from the plane.

Everyone that isn't for me.

"Hey, Kendall!" Carlos shouts from behind me.

I guess I'm not going to be alone for long. I may have not seen his face, but that natural upwards inflection in his voice tells me right away who it is.

I turn, and immediately notice the short Latino bouncing my way. And as soon as my eyes catch sight of him, his arms are around me, bringing me in for a tight hug that I could barely breath in.

"Carlos- dude! Too... tight!" I manage to choke out.

Carlos shoots back, jumping from his right and left foot in excitement. "I'm sorry, man. It's just- the last time I saw you, you know, like really saw you not on the TV, was at Logan and Camille's wedding three years ago!"

The sudden realization hits Carlos as to the reason why we've all come back to L.A.

Camille.

The somber mood approaches us like a Minnesota winter; Fast, without hesitation and everlasting.

"I'm sorry, man," Carlos speaks up, beginning to drag us towards the baggage claim area. "I just- Got a bit excited back there. It's been awhile, you know?" He smiles sweetly at me, eyes full on innocence that I wish I held. But he's missing that little quirk in his eyes that he held onto for so long. I know, from just one look at him, that he's over that 'Crazy' stage that he was stuck in when he was younger. He's grown up, more sophisticated, and has traded in pranks for a firehouse. He's probably seen more then all of of combined, but he's still positive. His hair is shorter, I notice. He seems to have a bit more of a muscular physique than when we were teens. And he is definitely more tanned.

But all in all, he's still Carlos. And that's all that counts.

"Ya, it has been a bit." I say, hitting him on the back with the palm of my hand.

"Ready to see Logan?" Carlos asks, hands inside of his back pockets. A loud noise emits from the metal machine and we just watch as the carousel begins to move in front of us.

"Nope. You?"

The Latino just sighs and shakes his head.

And at long moments last, as we wait for our baggage, or any baggage to load onto the machine, I can't help but say, "Any sign of James?"

I watch as Carlos' tiny smile turns into a frown, eyes falling downcast. His shoes, all of a sudden, seem interesting to him. "Nope." His voice automatically breaks as he speaks.

I turn away from my friend, watching as a red bag flows past me.

"Didn't think so."

* * *

When we get to Logan's place, the mood has not lifted.

Maybe I should have waited for the James comment. It's a sore spot for all of us.

And as I begin to scratch at the skin of my forearm, I really can't help but think that I could use a drink right about now.

I wasn't addicted. That much was obvious to me. The contents were just soothing, a way to forget. It was a comfort, a pleasure. Being the main man in the hockey league, I didn't get much pleasure or comfort now a days, prior to contrary belief. I was too busy to do anything besides playing and traveling in the name of my sport. I just didn't have time for fun like I was used to, so the guys on the team introduced me to drinking.

It's something that I will never regret listening to.

My lifelong raven haired best friend opens the door to his apartment. I notice immediately the signs that he isn't taking the death well. Then again, I wonder what it's like to handle a death well? I don't think there is such a thing.

But, then again, as fictional as it was, why couldn't he be like George Costanza from Seinfeld when his wife died? It would have saved a lot of heartbreak and Logan nights of sleep. I hate seeing my friends upset and hurt with the pain he was obviously feeling now.

It killed me.

... Now where's that drink that I desperately need before I decide to smash some random's face in, for Camille ever leaving Logan (even if it was never Camille's fault in the first place).

It's a common fact, Logan does not do well alone.

"Ohh, Logan..." Carlos whispers, dropping his bag to the ground and pulling Logan into a tight hug. He soothes the already crying boy, hushing him and telling him not to worry. Everything will be alright eventually.

I just stand back and watch.

What do you say when someone dies? I never lived through a death when I actually understood what a death was. I don't know what I would want to hear, let alone Logan. How do I comfort him?

Logan displaces himself from Carlos' hold, hands still holding on tightly to his shirt.

His eyes are red rimmed and glassy. He's lost weight and, he is impossibly pale. More so than he ever was back in Minnesota. His hair is a mess, and it hurts just looking at him.

I would have been fine, but it was the lost feeling that was expressed through his eyes that panged me the most.

He didn't deserve to feel like that.

"H-hey guys, s-sorry about that." He sniffles, wiping away a few tears that began to slip out from behind his dark eyes. He steps back, allowing me and Carlos to enter his apartment.

Carlos grabs onto his own luggage as I do with mine, and he follows Logan's kind gesture.

The apartment is scarily like my own. High ceiling tops, a second floor, a wide window at the other side of the room to look out and watch the city. There's a beautiful kitchen with granite counter tops to our immediate left as we enter, and the living room and dining room are just passed that. Other then the hallway towards the stairs, Logan's room and the bathroom, this penthouse suite is luxurious and open.

The only thing missing to make it exactly like my own was the numerous broken and/or empty bottles of alcohol.

Everything was a mess and so, so un-Logan like.

Papers upon papers lay strewn over the table, floor, couches, kitchen, everywhere. Some, I notice, are pictures of Logan and Camille, others are clipping of Camille's top notch performances at the local theatres from the Newspaper, and most are scripts, torn apart, never to be spoken aloud by that familiar voice ever again.

Logan must have been the one to detach all the pieces.

"Do you guys want a drink?" Logan asks, walking into the kitchen carefully. Me and Carlos, who are standing near the couches of the living room, say 'Yes' and begin to rid the room of the mass amount of papers.

Our luggage is forgotten at the door. Abandoned, uncared for. Just like Logan's apartment seemed to be.

How Logan seemed to be feeling right now.

Maybe, just maybe, if James was here, that's how he would be feeling right now, too.

Shaking the thoughts of _that boy_ away, Logan walks into the living room, three glasses of ice cold water in his hands. When he puts them down on the table, I notice that the red rim around his eyes is ever present and doesn't seem to be fading away anytime soon.

He glances around, utterly observant to his surrounding; a feat that I know will probably hurt him more than heal. He instantly notices a picture I'm holding of him and Camille at Disneyland and I can tell that he's trying his hardest to hold it in.

Just like Carlos had before, I drop the picture to the floor and drag him into a hug. He collapses into my arms as he bursts into fresh sobs. Carlos quickly wraps his arms around both of us as we comfort our smaller, raven haired friend.

"I-I just miss her so much. It's just, we-"

"Shhh, Logan. It's okay, we're here. Just let it all out." Carlos says gently. I can feel his hand on Logan's arm, rubbing soft, comforting circles on his skin.

"I'm sorry guys, I-"

"Shhh, it's okay..." I say, taking Carlos' words since I couldn't find my own.

We haven't seen each other since Logan's wedding, and that was over three years ago. I can tell that we aren't in tune with each other anymore. I don't know how to comfort or help them like I used to. But as I see Carlos hold Logan with me, I'm starting to realize:

Maybe it's just me who's out of sync. Carlos and Logan actually tried to have multiple reunions, but I always had something else going on.

They were still best friends, they still visited each other. They still talked to each other.

_I didn't know this because I stalked their Facebook profiles almost daily, or anything..._

It wasn't them who fell out of contact, it was me.

We fall onto the couch, Logan's head crying away in Carlos' chest and my hand rubbing soothing comforts on his leg.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

You know? Dreams are funny things. One minute you can be flying like Superman, fighting extraterrestrial beings with hockey sticks alongside your best friends. Or you can be like Carlos, having dreams about us four boys being Super Spies, complete with Beatle songs and an evil mastermind who was scarily reminiscent to Doctor Evil that just happens to come true.

Then, after all is said and done, you feel like you're falling. From a building, up a stairwell, on a sidewalk, even off a bed.

That feeling of falling usually awakes others, but for me? It just means I'm falling deeper into a darkened dream; a nightmare.

All my nightmares had to do with the same things. Same scenario, same people, same stupid everything.

Every single _stupid_ damn time.

Usually Logan and Carlos would be screaming at me, telling me it was my fault. The _fag's_ fault that this happened. They would then yell at me to fix this. Fix this problem!

Except, I didn't know how. I never knew how. I just stood off to the side, watching as James appeared in front of us. The landscape developed and we stood in the middle of an darkened street at midnight. We were in a city, but no prosthetic lights fell onto our bodies like usual. It was just the natural blues of the moon and stars. James lay pale on the sidewalk, bleeding.

Dead.

How he died, was always a mystery.

Then Logan and Carlos, eyes boring into my conscious, would turn solemn.

"This is your fault. James left because of you." Logan would say. I would try to deny it. I always tried to deny it, even though deep down, I thought it to be true.

Then Carlos would begin to snicker, outwardly mocking me and my pathetic, scared frame.

"And you actually thought he could ever love you? Why would he love someone who killed him?"

My eyes instantly fall downcast, noticing a metal gleam in my hands. I analyze it, and realize that it's a knife.

A knife with blood dripping down the beautiful, cutting curves of the defined blade.

I drop it, and listen to it shatter against the concrete.

"Your fault. Your fault!" They would always mutter at me. My hands lift to my golden locks and over my ears, stopping their voices from further entering my mind.

"No, no!"

"It is." A new voice would always show up around now.

And in the middle of an alleyway, the scene switching as soon as it started, I turn, noticing a shadowed figure.

"It_ is_ your fault." The person's voice says.

"No, please not you too. You know it wasn't me. It wasn't!" I try to plead, but it just shakes it's head.

"You know, you're Father was always so stressed, it's one of the reasons he worked so much. He was stressed because you were such a pain to deal with. If he always left due to you, what makes this boy any different? Why should I trust you when you'll do anything to avoid the truth? See the pain you've caused?

The shadow disappears, and the person's face is visible.

And just as it did every other time, my Mother begins to laugh. My Dad walks up from behind, laughing silently as well, his hands slipping around her waist.

The ground falls out from under me, and I fall into the dark abyss.

This is the moment when I always wake up. I have to live through my dreams, experience my nightmare, to get to the beauty of being awake. A place where I didn't have to live through the horrors that I knew to be true.

Here I stand, in my suit alongside Carlos and Logan, along with a multitude of other people.

Camille's parents and brother stand on the opposite end of us, crying for their lost daughter. I can tell immediately where Camille gets her looks from.

Her mother has the same, brown eyes and curled hair. But Camille definitely had her father's nose.

Her brother is the exact opposite. He's identical to his Father, but rather than a button nose like the elder Roberts, he has his Mother's long and straight structure. He's handsome in his own light, where as Camille was gorgeous.

_Was. Past tense._

I was never attracted to her, but I did admit that she definitely didn't lack in the looks department.

The mother begins to wail hysterically, the man placing his strong arms over her waist to keep her up right as they begin to drop the coffin into the enlarged hole within the dirtied grouns.

Logan, all cried out, just watches with pity.

Maybe he wants to go over there and help them out? Or maybe he feels guilty, that maybe he caused this.

I don't know what he thinks anymore. Carlos, I can tell, knows though. I'm almost jealous at how close those two seem to be since we've gotten here. They're always by each other's side, knowing each and every one of each other's needs.

We watch together as the mahogany coffin land on the ground, and the dirt begins to overshadow it's wood, never to be seen again.

This is one of those rare moments where I wished I was in that nightmare rather than reality. Because for me, being awake is more of an escape than dreaming.

* * *

Three hours later, it was Logan who decided it was best to get out. Get away and out of the house for a short while. It was Carlos who suggested coffee at an old cafe we all used to love.

_It was James who discovered it._

It was me who agreed to it.

Here we are now, sipping away at our too-hot cups of coffee, eyes glazed over and red rimmed from crying. Truthfully, I'm surprised our waitress didn't even spare us a second glance. All of our hair is out of place and wild, our suits are lopsided on our bodies, and we are each extremely pale and exhausted from no days of sleep. Pretty much, we look like shit.

I watch silently as Logan sips his coffee and hisses, only to go and sip it again...

I want to snicker, but I can't find it in my heart to even giggle so soon after Camille's funeral. It just doesn't seem right.

"So, what's been going on with you guys over the past few years?" Logan asks, voice weak and filled with sadness. "We haven't exactly talked about that with everything's that's been going on..."

Carlos glances with those kind, big eyes, shooting looks between me and Logan, silently asking if talking about our own lives was the proper thing to do.

I only shrug.

"Well, I'm doing really well." Carlos begins, ignoring his own sigh that we both know wants to escape due to my lack of answering.

Logan nods his head, eyes on the black liquid in his little white cup.

"I'm the director of Daytona's Bay newest hit musical; Les Miserables!" Carlos chirps with a frightfully large smile.

Logan begins to smirk. "My favorite musical..." He mumbles with a gentle tone.

"Ya, dude! Remember when you first showed it to me a year ago? I hated it! I didn't understand anything, but I went home did some research and kind of fell in love with it."

"Isn't it great?"

"Ya! And like, Fantine's death scene, just-"

"Amazing, right? Oh, what about Eponine? Or the Epilogue? I always loved the harmonies in the background while-"

Even now, I can still tell that those two are in sync. They can still read each other's thoughts as if they're psychic.

I've never even heard of this play before, since plays were always more of a James thing than a hockey thing.

"So-" I speak, interrupting the few happier moments that we've experienced since me and Carlos have arrived. "What about firefighting, Carlos? Save any lives lately?" I ask with an overly large grin that is way too big to be real.

_I would do anything to make those two shut up._

"Oh, well..." Carlos tried to think about his job, but he didn't seem to be coming up with anything right away. His happy face begins to fall.

"No, not lately. I saved a kitten from a tree, but no lives." He shrugs before sipping his coffee.

Logan glances between us and shudders.

I can only bet that he is thinking of Camille.

"Well, what about you, Kendall? How's the famous life of a hockey player treating you? I've never missed a single one of your games, by the way."

So much for thinking of Camille. Maybe he too just realized how far apart we've grown.

When did we become like this?

"It's fine. Easy. Repetitive. Simple, if not tedious..." I confide and watch as Logan's eyes narrow. I can understand why. I mean, my dream was to be a national hockey player and here I was, years later, dream completed.

And I didn't seem thrilled with it.

"Ohh," Logan says, trying to make an easy transition away from hockey. "Well, is there anyone in your life?"

"Nope." And with that, we all take another sip of coffee, and Logan promptly hisses and scolds himself silently yet again.

"... James used to love this place." Carlos finally chirps in, minutes passing us by as if we're in school, waiting for the bell to ring during last block on a Friday afternoon.

Logan nods, brushing his nostrils as to not cry. "Ya, he did."

"I hope he's okay. I can't believe he just disappeared into thin air." Carlos admits, eyes glancing outside of the window. Maybe if he stares long enough, James will appear just on the other side, saying something like 'haha, got you', or simple like 'hey guys, how have you been?' That's the dream, isn't it?

"He didn't disappear, technically." Logan pipes up, putting down his cup of coffee and waving his hand over the steam to try and make the hot liquid cooler. He was slowly gaining back his composure, his thoughts finally on something less traumatic then Camille.

"Remember, after a few months of not no phone calls, text messages, letters or contact in general, we sent the police after him? They found him within a day, so it's not that he disappeared, we just lost touch. That's life though, people lose touch. We all did for a few months, remember? As soon as we all moved, I don't think anyone of us talked for at least 8 months, and the only reason we started again was because Carlos cracked because of loneliness and phoned us all. And we know James, when he gets into something that he wants to do, everything else isn't important. He will get it done and as quickly as he can. He won't give up or let life get in the way until whatever's important is finished. I think we're probably just on the backburner of his brain right now." Logan confides sheepishly, his dark eyes remaining on the table the entire time.

"Fine, we lost touch and he found better things to do. But, for four years? That just doesn't seem right." Carlos adds. He takes large gulp of his coffee and makes sure to make horrendous, sex-like, animalistic noises to show how good it is. He only does this to lighten the mood and to also get underneath Logan's skin, due to the fact that his coffee is still too warm to drink. Logan just offers Carlos the 'eye' as I like to call it. It's a glare, it's frightening, it's vicious, and whoever gets it would be dead in less than .321 seconds if looks could kill.

Sighing and facing me rather than Carlos, Logan says, "Okay then, he's probably running. Maybe he got himself into trouble and didn't want our help. You know James, he'll take help when we offer it or if he's in a situation with one of us, but when he's alone he'll try to fix whatever problem it is by himself. He'll do anything to keep us away and out of his business. Remember when he was underage and crashed his Mom's car? He found a job the next day and didn't stop working until he had enough money to fix it all by himself. We didn't find out about anything, the car or the job, until we had a sleepover at his house and his last paystub came in the mail and his Mom saw it."

Logan. Always the interpreter. The analysis... The one who likes to put a saddening but usually realistic twist onto any situation.

I watch my two friends with intrigue. It's almost funny because this is what most of our conversations seem to come back to; James. "Running away or even if he did just lose touch, I'm sure he's fine," I add. "I bet you any money that he's probably in France, sipping tea and about to do a huge concert for his French fans."

"Or maybe he's in Austria." Logan says with a pitiful laugh. "And hasn't called yet in fear that he'll wake us up one night, because he doesn't know the time difference between Austria and the US." This forces Logan to let out a small giggle, finally having a sip of his now perfectly perfect temperatured cup of coffee. Not too hot nor too cold.

Carlos' eyes gain back a smidgen of that innocent flare that we all know and love as he made an audible gasp. "Or maybe he's in Singapore!"

We all have a laugh at that. For some reason, James had always wanted to travel to Singapore for a concert. None of us had even a close idea why James seemed so obsessed with the completely random country. We all tried to get him to confess, but he never budged about that small and completely strange personal fact of his. It annoyed me like none other, needless to say.

"Ya, or Singapore." I attempt, voice breaking mid sentence. "Either way, I'm sure wherever he is, he's fine. I mean, he's James! He has to be okay." I say with a smile.

I never let that dreaded knot in my stomach increase as I said those words. I just had this feeling that everything wasn't alright with James.

And that scared the living shit out of me.

"Hey, waiter!" I call out, allowing the dreaded knot to tighten further, and hating myself for it.

James was fine.

James was fine.

James had to be fine!

The knot restricts within the bottom of my stomach.

The waiter finally turns to me and I don't hesitate in asking,

"Can I get a beer, please?"

* * *

Chhhappter doonne

Hope you like it? And hopefully it's okay? And not too boring or strange or bizarre? I am nervous about this story, have I said that? I also have a very small confidence when it comes to my writing (or anything in general, actually, haha) so please no flames? I actually haven't never gotten a flame since everybody seems to be so nice in this fandom, but it could never hurt to say :p

And Kendall's character is confusing and is angry/fustrated and I find to be quite annoying at times. But, ya, sort of needs to happen, I think? And James' POV next chapter! If you guys still like this fic by then!

Tell me what you think!


	3. I Like the Way You Move

Hiya! New chappter!

Love Announcement (Awwh, thats great to hear that you're liking it! I was worried, ahah! I enjoy Carlos and Logan in this story. They're cute :p Buut, my computar is being stupid, and I can't seem to send back PMs, but I couldn't get the link :'( :'( BUT thank you for the review and trying to send it anyways, it was much appreciated!), Just Fetching (It wasn't boring, oh thank god! haha, I'm so nervous about that :p And yah, i feel bad for Kendall too. I am definitely cruel to his character in this story :p Thank you for the review! And btw, I didn't even notice the their's and they'res, I just love review! haha, so thank you for that one! Much appreciated!), LadyShadowDweller, and zoebeansmommy, for the alerts/ favorites! I love it!

And I'm sorry for any errors that may occur, as usual! I try my best! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(James' POV)**

I always liked to fool myself. It was just so easy. Just steal some money from some passerby and then I could simply get high.

I hated stealing, but the act of getting high was all I needed to forget even that self hate.

I would feel great and just sit on the sidewalk and watch as life passes me by. I could pretend that I was one of those many people walking past me, either never sparing me a glance, or looking at me like I was the plague. Sneer and all.

I knew I was scum now.

But if I just ignored those looks, and let the sun fall on my already tanned form, I could listen to the sounds of the city.

I would close my eyes, and pretend like those sounds were the same ones I had experienced years before.

I was on the stage again, dancing and performing, doing what I was meant to do.

Everyone was chanting my name 'James! James! James!', saying preposterous things such as 'You're amazing James! I love you James! Marry me, James!'

No matter how strange they got, (like my personal favorite, 'Can I have your babies, James? !') I enjoyed every moment of it, basked in all of its glory.

I was on top of the world, and nothing could bring me down. That's always how it was. Me, singing, the lights creating an aura around me. A haven of sorts.

It was an atmosphere which held a perfect harmony that I completed. But all to shortly, just like our old concerts seemed to, it ends quickly. The feeling, the adrenaline, the everything disappears and it leaves me in this land of the lost.

"Oh, sugar." Diane says to me, bringing me away from my ever-so-needed dreams.

Why couldn't they have come true? I was talented, wasn't I? I was cute, wasn't I?

What exactly did I lack?

I feel her shaking fingers intertwine with my own, removing the needle from my grasp.

I can feel her playing with my bangs, giving me a little bit of relief with having someone who seems to care, near.

She sighs loudly as she drags her hand down my cheekbone.

Lifting the hand, she slaps me softly on the face, waking me up fully. An unfortunate dreadful feeling overtakes me after spending the entire morning and afternoon high on the sidewalk.

"Honey, it's 8 pm, you need to get going soon." I just watch her dead eyes. I know she felt sorry for me, and I could never understand why. She's been living on the streets without any house to go to since she was 21, and I think she's expecting her 38th birthday soon.

... And she looks like she's 50 years old. Her hair is already greying.

I want to ask her, what's her secret for living until that age around here? So many die so young, so broken. What did she have that they didn't? And most importantly; If I am privileged enough to be her age, will I look like her? Grey hairs and all?

It's a repulsive thought that keeps clouding over my vision. I mean, I have worse things to worry about then greying hair.

"You're going to be late for your shift." She says with a stern tone, pulling me up from my place on the ground.

For such a tiny women, she has unbelievable strength.

She glares at me, telling me to leave. I know it's all out of love. I have a job, one where I obtain an absurd amount of money in one evening. She believes in me.

Why does no one else seem to? ...

"And if I catch you about to shoot up in the middle of the day _again,_ I will hurt you!" She sniffles, eyes blinking rapidly and shoulders twitching at a scary rate. I turn away, just as she takes my needle and shoves it in her own pocket.

Diane was going to be a nurse. She was one year away from completing the program when some jackass put a heavy mix into her alcohol at a party. After that, she did everything she could to try and get that euphoria back. And being a student halfway through the nursing program with connections, it didn't take long for her wish to come true.

She hasn't been the same since, but still. She was going to be a nurse. She should know the not to use my own needle. But maybe that's what she's hoping. Knowing my line of work, I might have something, a disease of sorts (I don't. I get myself checked out monthly). Maybe she wants to get sick, and hopefully that'll finally get her off the streets and away from this world forever. She's sick of life on the streets, and using my needles is dangerous, but if it'll get her away from this place, she'll do anything.

So I know for a fact that she'll use it later.

She always does.

* * *

"Jamie, you're late darlin'" I hear a voice purr into my ear as I enter the overwhelming club, walking over to dressing room for staff only. His large, over bearing arms encircle my waist as he begins to press harsh kisses against my neck.

"Please go away, Evan. I've had a rough day." I retort weakly. I shove myself away from his disgusting grasp and begin to remove my torn shirt and replace it with my costume for tonight.

"Awww, did James have a bad day? What? Someone give you bad heroine and you couldn't get high enough, huh?" The older man pouts at me pathetically.

"First off, I've never done heroine. And secondly, you're a Shidiot. " Grabbing onto his muscular shoulder, I shove him roughly, stomping my way over to the staff bathroom so I can change in peace.

The light flickers above my head, and that sickening scent of old vomit and alcohol mix in the stale air. The bathroom stalls are rusting, and it's just all round disgusting.

Even in this environment, I remember how I felt earlier today on the sidewalk, all those cars and far away noises drawing to my ears, creating that chant 'James! James! James!"

A tale of what could never have been.

"Ohh, Jamsey!" I hear the swinging door open and the awful voice of my co-worker, partner in crime and (most of the time, but not always) drug dealer.

Even Swartz.

Or as I like to call him, Shidiot. A valuable mix between Shit and Idiot. For he _was_ shit and he_ was_ an idiot. Combine those two words and that's all the characteristics the man has.

Except, I shouldn't say that they're the _only_ two characteristics he has. I mean, I hate his guts but I'll admit, the man can dance like no freakin' tomorrow.

He's the one who taught me everything I need to know for my job. He helped me rise to the top in this well known gay striper's bar.

He's broad, tall (only about an inch or two than myself), overly muscular which is all due to his high dosage of roids', short brown hair and cruel brown eyes. He's not one of those huge, teddy-bear type of guys.

No. He's the type of guys that girls will glance at and run away because they're scared of what he's going to do to them. Just that look in his eye shows us what he's capable of, and what he's willing to do to get something he wants.

So, long story short. Evan Swartz. Bad guy. Keep away, keep away, keep away. And what do I do? Ohhh, go and make him my dance partner and drug dealer of all things. Why? Because I'm just that freakin' smart, duh!

"You ready for tonight, babe?" He asks from behind my closed bathroom stall door. The door doesn't completely stop at our feet, so I can see him shifting around in his shoes of choice for the evening.

"I'll be out in a bit Evie."

Evie. This huge guy likes to be called Evie, _a pet name... _I just don't understand sometimes.

I can hear him scoff before he says to me in a lewd voice, "Okay, well we're on in 5. _I'll be waiting_."

A shudder flows through my body as the man exits, leaving me alone in this dusky little bathroom.

With shaking fingers and slight perspiration falling down my twitching body, I manage to dress into the costume, leaving the stall and entering my world of work for just one more night.

* * *

**(Kendall's POV)**

A week and a half has passed since Camille's funeral. Luckily, the month and a bit that I'm taking off of work is during our break. We're supposed to be training for the next NHL starting up in August, since we lost badly against Boston during the preliminary stage of the Stanley Cup. Coach wasn't too pleased, so he's making us work extra hard for next year, which is reasonable, I guess.

I just find it awesome that 'Bernard' (defenseman, 29, blond, tall, plays by the tactic 'the best offense is actually not a good defense, but a good offense. Play dirty, get in the way, trip, yell and fight and do anything to get a goal'... which is why he's a defenseman? ) asked for two weeks of time off for his friend's wedding, and he couldn't get it. And yet, here I am, with a full month and a half time off.

I'd like to imagine that it's because Bernard put himself into the penalty box 8 times and broke a guys nose, while letting three men past which allowed three goals to be scored during the preliminary round, whereas I didn't fight, no penalties, and scored 5 out of our 7 goals.

I play hockey, not wrestling on ice, which is something that fuckin' Bernard needs to learn if he ever wants an actual vacation.

But, something tells me that my reasoning is wrong.

Maybe my little disgusting secret about my sexuality is leaking, or is just plain obvious to everyone around myself.

Maybe that's why Coach let me leave for Camille's death. He doesn't want a gay man on ice any longer than he has to be...

Me and Carlos, after a week of listening to Logan mope, decide he needs to get out... Since the man hasn't _been_ out since we had our cups of coffee on the day of Camille's funeral.

He doesn't want to, and I'm not even sure if we're making a right decision, but Carlos thinks it's a good idea. And since the Latino has a better grasp of reality than I do at this point, I decide to let him take the lead.

"Come on guys, hurry!" He yells excitedly as he bounces down the bustling street, the car lights flashing around us as the open signs above us flare their rays.

The night sky is so far away and seems so unreal, so nonexistent from down here, underneath all the artificial lights at 11 pm on an Los Angeles type of night.

We watch as Carlos bounds down the sidewalk, stopping abruptly and glancing upwards at a building. We follow him and stop where he does directly in front of the doors.

My jaw simultaneously falls to the ground.

"Oasis Ultra Lounge; Best Gay Bar in town!" A flyer says in front of the large metal doors. I quirk my eyebrows bizarrely at Carlos, prompting him to speak up and please explain his way of thinking.

And just- why in the world would he bring us to a gay bar, of all places? Does he know something? He shouldn't! Is it obvious? Does everybody know?

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!

"I just figured if we made it known that we weren't gay, people wouldn't hit on us. We can still have a good night, just the three of us." He explains with ease.

Just the three of us. How improper those words sound coming out of his mouth. It should be, it should _always_ be four of us. Never three.

Never ever three.

Even Logan shudders as the words leave an apologetic Carlos' mouth.

To contemplate the ongoing silence between us, I shrug.

"Fine, that's an okay idea... I guess." I speak as if I were asking a question rather than the statement I was trying to confidently go for.

We enter the tobacco filled club, sex mixed with alcohol, drugs and pot lingering in the air. It's dark, dingy and bright lights are flashing against the dancing floor. I have to hold onto Logan's arm from behind me and Carlos' back that's in front of me so I know that we won't separate.

"Over here!" I somehow hear Carlos' voice, drowned out by the dubstep playing in the background.

The little Latino brings us to a booth in a far, far corner, sitting me and Logan down on one side and himself sitting on the opposite end. He almost immediately orders us drinks from a passing waiter.

"Carlos, again. Why a gay bar of all places?" I ask, tension rising in my body. I could barely keep my eyes away from the muscular, sweating beings grinding on the dance floor. One couple specifically are in their own little world. Shirts have been shed and the taller one grinds his junk into the slightly shorter one's ass. The shorter male throws his long haired head back into the crook of the other guys neck, who promptly gives him a shuddering lick against the sweaty skin.

I tremble at the exhibition, my own bulge beginning to form.

Damn it, Carlos. Damn you!

"Like I said," Carlos speaks up, looking straight at Logan instead of me. "I thought it'd be nice to have a fun night, without any drunk girls asking us for drinks, or to dance with them. Tonight is about us, not anyone else."

"Ya, but now we have to deal with drunken gay men asking us for drinks."

The Latino just shrugs. "Just tell them we're not like that, and they'll leave us alone. Word gets out pretty fast."

Logan, who's been stuck in a rather lack luster state of mind, somewhere that obviously wasn't in L.A, finally perks up. I watch as his broken brown eyes fall onto Carlos. "You sound like you know from experience." He states professionally.

Again, Carlos just shrugs. "Sometimes I need time to think. I like to be around people and just watch them, but I could never do that at an actual club. Girls just wouldn't leave me alone, so I ended up going to gay bars a lot. Guys, for some reason, got the hint. Girls didn't. I mean, there was the occasional asshole who wouldn't leave me alone, but not like at the other clubs. Weird, isn't it? Seeing where you end up for a moments piece?" He admits with a questioning tone. Logan emits a soft smile, which makes us all beam. We would do anything to get Logan to really smile this past week and half.

"I guess, ya." The raven haired genius says with a half hearted tone.

Our drinks are brought to us and we begin drinking in seconds. Tonight, there's no holding back, for anyone of us. Carlos is on shot number four by the time I'm on shot number seven.

Logan, who was always the smart one, is only on shot 2 ¾ and he's already begun swaying in his seat next to me.

The warming effects begin to run through my veins, and I can feel a real smile appear on my face as objects begin to blur together, while others begin to become emphasized within my line of sight.

I'm only in the in-between zone of being buzzed and drunk. I still have control; thank god.

Although I don't seem to have control over the thoughts. The harmful thoughts and images that are creeping their way into my mind. Why are they torturing me? Why are they showing me what exactly I'd do if I happened to get that cute brunette over in the corner with the tight jeans, leather jacket and long legs and nice ass to the bedroom of my house?

I don't want to think about it.

_He'd probably moan like a porn star. Those long, strong legs wrapped around your waist, clinging and begging._

I haven't even seen his face, so just tell me why, why am I like this?

I don't want to be like this!

I want to like girls! I want a family! I want to make my mother and father proud and not have them be embarrassed by having a failure of a son! They were both extremely religious. In their faith, Gay plus Religion does not work! Put both together and it equals, well, bad things will be thrown at me if I come out...

I quickly realize that we're out of drinks, and offer to go grab some more from the bar.

I need it.

Desperately.

I don't even wait for Carlos or Logan's answers before I jump out of my seat and practically run towards the bar.

Time flows and passes me like cotton in the wind as I wait with impatience, ordering us more drinks.

But, for one sudden moment, time stops, the music ends and the lights dim down completely as a number of men begin shouting ludicrous, lewd sounds from around the rest of the bar.

"Gentleman, and gentleman," A voice flows through the room as everything finalizes and stops. An older man is on stage, with a sign of 'Manager' on his ugly black t-shirt. A light falls on his heavy, fatty ass form.

"It is now 12 pm, and does everyone know what that means?"

The men in the room, especially the regulars it seems, begin chanting and shouting, except I can't understand what their slurring mouths are saying. It doesn't make any sense to me.

It's just noise.

"That's right, that's right. So now, let's give it up for our top performers of the evening. Jake Divonne, and Ev-Dawg Swalls!"

... Those are the two most stupidest stage names I think I have ever heard.

The man leaves the stage, and the curtains that I hadn't even noticed open instantly, revealing an even larger stage, with a set of two poles on either side of it and a cat-walk aisle down the middle of the bar. How had I missed that? Oh right, too many men and drinks here... Right.

_Fuck!_

The room is completely still. Circular bluish/white lights are turned on. Their beams, the lights obviously attached to the floor, face upwards to the high ceilings. Two men stand in the middle of the stage, their bodies shadows due to the direction of the lights. They are both tall, one extremely more muscular than the other. The Bigman stands behind the leaner, somewhat smaller one. I can see the outline of Bigman's hand wrapper around the others waist.

The leaner of the two guys looks like he's shaking slightly. His back faces us, the audience, and I can tell immediately from the way his jeans wrap around his long legs and ass that it's the cute brunette from before.

Hmm, this should be interesting.

And the music begins.

Clapping, along with a familiar bass rhythm and tapping of a drum stars the beat. I can tell in an instant that the song being played is "I Like the Way You Move' by the Bodyrockers.

The bodies move together in unison, slowly grinding down each other's hips sensually. Bigman's muscular hands fall from Leanerboy's waist, grabbing onto his ass and massaging it, spreading the cheeks within the tight leather pants harshly.

I watch as Leanerboy turns his upper body towards us, the audience, and throws his head back, mouth obnoxiously parted and begging for more.

The white/bluish light from behind outlines the figure and mouth perfectly. There is no detail on either face, other than the eccentric outlines of their bodies.

The lyrics in the background begin as their dance becomes more erotic on stage. Bigman begins slowly taking off the black, fitting jacket from Leanerboy. His huge hands grip against the shoulders of the jacket, slowing shoving the jacket down. The fabric falls, and clings to Leanerboy's elbows, staying there for the time being. Their hips begin to move from side to side, no longer against each other but for the pleasure of the people in the audience.

The jacket is off by the hands of Bigman, throwing it into the room of crowded people. The lights are still off, even as the song begins to go into its fast paced chorus. The quickly spin around each other, glancing each other in the eye, before racing to the two poles. Bigman runs to the pole closer to my side, whereas Leanerboy runs to the other end. They climb the poles like they own them, flinging their heads back and spinning around like fricken Terpskihore or something... She- I... Greek goddess of dance... Please don't even ask how I know that.

Legs fly out from the poles as the hang on, completely horizontal with only their arms and shoulder muscle keeping them stable. They begin moving their bodies like flags, waving in the wind. So perfect, so beautiful, so synchronized. They bring themselves back towards the steel pole, spinning around spastically before jumping off and falling onto the stage. Their bodies and faces, still hidden deep in the shadows, begin dancing with each other once again. This time body rolls against each other are made. Bigman grabs onto Leanerboy's hand and spins him around gracefully on one balled foot.

Leanerboy stops himself and immediately lets go of Bigman's hand. He runs down the catwalk, Bigman going after him like a game of cat and mouse. Leanerboy, who is facing the direction away from me, his butt looking me square in the face about 20 feet away, falls to his knees and begins crawling seductively on all fours to the growling men of the audience. Tapping their hands playfully, he is making quite a show of himself.

Bigman stands behind, ripping off his own white muscle shirt and jumps towards Leanerboy, grabbing him by his waist and flinging him into the air.

Leanerboy seems to expect this, and land on the balls of his feet gracefully.

They dance around each other, before running towards the middle of the stage as the song takes a horrible turn, due to some bad editing. It is nearing its end and as it enters its last chorus, the men turn towards us and jump as high as they can, doing a gymnastic pike in the air.

When they land, sparks literally fly as all the stage lights turn on full blast, showing everybody the sweating forms.

Holy. Fucking. Shitting. Ass. Fuck-

My heart stops. It restricts. I feel as if I'm about to cry. Bigman, needing control, instantly tugs off Leanerboy's shirt, revealing the still toned, washboard abs, and I can't. I just can't. Because Leanerboy is being manhandled and he obviously hates it. The looks on his face as Bigman touches him, and it makes me say I can't even more. I just- only because-

Leanerboy, he's- James. Even after all these years, my breath is still fucking lost around him. He looks like the epitome of sex and lust and I just can't.

Those eyes, there's something different about them.

I want to turn away, wish to myself that this wasn't the man I'd searched four years for. No, that man was living the dream. In Singapore. In London. Anywhere in the world that wasn't in L.A in a strip club.

In a _gay_ strip club.

Seeing him makes me almost wish I hadn't. His hair, it's lifeless. It's around the same length it was years ago, mid length and covering his ears. But, there's no shape to it. I can even see a little bit of grease that's built up in his what used to be absolutely perfect and pristine locks. And it's like he doesn't even care. So many eyes on him, on his half naked form, and he just doesn't seem to care.

Protectiveness and alcohol begin to mix, as I begin to have cruel images of covering everyone's eyes, keeping them away from James body.

He hates it, can't they see? It was written so clearly on his face! The way he dances, while graceful and so luscious, it's just- he's not there. These people in the audience should respect that! Get your eyes away from him! Stop biting your lips, just stop! Stop!

The song begins its descent, and James is in Bigman's arms, a fake flirty smile plastered onto his pale face. Bigman grinds once again into his ass, as James makes a show of it, clearly stating that he 'likes' it. Bigman dips James down towards the floor, James arching his back and his neck beautifully.

The song ends, but they don't move from their positions. Instead, I notice the wanting eyes in James' male counterpart. Men upon men are screeching at them to 'just do it already!' 'Do it! Do it!'

I stand by, lifeless. My best friend.

Striper. Pale. Hair. Leaner... Skinny... Still somewhat toned, but skinny, so, so desperately skinny. The man I lost for four years is here in front of me, and I can't even move. I can barely speak. My hand instinctively grabs a passing waiters shot glass on his overfilled tray.

What happened to you, James?

And that's when I notice the rising blush on James' cheeks as he stares Bigman straight in the eyes, mouthing him the word 'No'. Bigman doesn't listen and shoves his hand into the front of James' tight as hell jeans, cupping him roughly.

James outwardly cringes and hides his face in the crook of Bigman's neck, away from the disgusting audience, who are loving the spectacle more than they should.

Don't they realize that he's a human being up there? He's somebody's friend?

And then I remember how I had those same images about 'Leanerboy' while he was just a shadow in the dark...

What- what happened. Why, just why? That can't be James. It isn't James. James isn't on the brink of starvation or being humiliated. He was being adored by millions of fans in Ecuador, or Iceland, or wherever!

The manager comes back up just as the curtain closes, many of the now horny men booing at such a short performance.

"Now, now. I'm afraid Jake Divonne isn't feeling too well tonight, so we had to keep it short and sweet. But, if you'd like to give him your... _gratifications,_ he and Ev-Dawg Swalls are open all night."

Before I know what I'm doing, I've downed two more shots of something random and bounded back to my wide eyed friends.

"Kendall, it's-" Carlos tried to say as he sees me reappear. His mouth is open so wide it reminds me of a fish out of water.

"James." Logan finished for him, pointing to the covered stage.

I grab onto their arms and run towards the backroom, a place I somehow know James would be at.

When we turn the unblocked corner, James is near tears, his bony and bruised back facing us.

I stop, He's right there. In front of me. I want to reach out to him, touch that scaly back, hug him and slap him and yell at him and tell him how much I've missed him all at once.

But I don't. None of us do. We stand, shocked at our friend.

Four years, I remind myself. Four years he tortured us with is disappearance. He was dead in our minds, and yet here he was, perfectly alive.

"Why! Why did you do that? I told you no!" He screeches at Bigman, who's stage name (I'm guessing) is Ev-Dawg and I refuse to ever say the last part. Just no.

James Diamond must be Jake Divonne, same initials.

Well played, Diamond. Well played.

"Oh please! The audience loved it!" Ev-Dawg screams back at James in such a frightful tone that even I jump at the harshness of it.

"I don't care if the audience loved it, I didn't!" James yells, throwing his bony wrist into the air from exasperation. He turns and walks towards us, eyes down on the floor, until he meets the outer layer of my shoe.

He stands right in front of me, so close and I don't even know how to react.

He looks so much worse up close.

... I pretend not to notice his arms. The scars and tiny holes covered with makeup placed in varied patterns against his skin.

He stops, and his hazy eyes begin to lift tiredly towards my own. We meet, and as he searches my green irises, I can sense the dread that falls into him all at once.

He doesn't react, or screech, or say 'Oh my god!' like I half expected to him. Like he would have back in the day.

Just like I said before, he's not there. He's somewhere far off, even looking me in the eye, there's barely recognition present.

"Kendall-" His mouth opens and says weakly. He turns to Logan and Carlos as well, unsure of how to process this. He looks downwards, and takes a mental note of how he's dressed.

He's only in tight stripper jeans with premade rips in them, and shoes. His shaking fingers, I notice, latch onto his face, touching the small amount of stubble.

He looks back at me suddenly, trying to smile the embarrassment away. "H-hey guys," His voice breaks and his smile falters. He begins to scan for an escape route, but I latch onto his wrist and refuse to let go.

"Hey guys? After four years that's all you have to say us?" I spit into his face and he flinches at my severely bitter tone.

"... Hey... guys?" He tries again, this time with more control over his wavering voice. And I don't know what snapped.

"Where the hell have you been!" I scream at him, every emotion that I've felt for losing him, all those daily thoughts tempting me, taunting me, haunting me for something I could never have, coming out like acid rain in my fine tone.

"H-here." He whispers, eyes blinking rapidly and falling to the ground as he points dejectedly around the room.

He's looking everywhere but at us.

I fall back, letting go of the shivering James. The fatass manager comes up from behind him, planting one of his fatty little hands on James' tiny shoulder.

"Is there a problem?" He asks quizzically, looking more at James than at us.

"N-no sir." James responds, hands trying to hide his bare chest.

"Well good, because you have a job to do." He whispers with a vicious bite-like tone into James' ear. James' shivering only increases at his voice.

"Yes, sir."

The manager turns to us, eyes sincere and apologetic. "I'm sorry boys, Jake is booked for the time being-" James bits his lips and closes his eyes, and I know he wishes he were anywhere but here. "-but if you'd like, you can sign your name on a take-out sheet for later tonight. We can do personal house visits, but it costs extra, and he can't show up until after 2:30. You interested?"

His pudgy little beady eyes fall on me. Even in my intoxicated state, I have some control. I want to see James, force him to have my number, my address. I see a small twinkle in James' eye, signalling a bad idea that has just come to the brunette. That asshole, he's planning on- "What happens if he doesn't show up?" I ask, turning back to ugly, fatty manager.

His beady eyes fur together, as if the idea was completely absurd and would never happen.

"Well, if that were the case I'd find him and drive him there myself. But, for you, I can make sure that doesn't happen in the first place. So, we got a deal?"

Without even asking the price, I accept. He pulls out a form sheet from out of nowhere and takes my number, address and the time I'd like James- or in this case 'Jake'- to come over.

_As soon as possible,_ my mind says for me.

"Great! Jake will be over at your place at 2:30, and you have for the entire morning... Are you worried at all about price?"

I shook my head, my eyes remaining on James and only James and his withdrawing form.

"Money isn't an issue." I say.

"Great, hope you have a fun night, Mr. Stetson." He says back. He turns to James and takes him away from our view, and we watch James' staggering steps towards the staff room, disappearing from our sights for just a short while longer.

Yelling instantly is heard from behind the staff room walls.

"Stetson?" Carlos pipes after minutes pass.

"I couldn't use my real name. And if word gets out that Jett Stetson bought a prostitute at a gay bar, well.. It'll just be funny for us to watch."

And that was all that needed to be said for the time being. Maybe silence would grace us and make us realize that this has all been one of those horrible nightmares I've suffered through.

We somehow make it back to the car, and I begin driving.

I drive at an impossible speed because right now, all I want to do is scream. It doesn't matter that I'm drunk, it doesn't matter that James is like that, and that he's coming over to Logan's at 2:30, his boss under the obvious impression that we're going to fuck him.

Carlos stares with a sullen expression in the backseat, and Logan's eyes remain unseeing to the road. Good, if he took notice to my current driving skills, I'd be in deep shit.

My body begins to fall into shut down mode. I slow the car as we make it into Logan's neighbourhood, filled with strange and bizarre turns. How did I even make it back here alive?

I close my eyes momentarily and pinch the bridge of my nose, one hand still on the wheel. The truth sucking me away from my belief that being awake was my escape, and dreaming was my hell.

James, he-

"He's on something, isn't he?" I ask pitifully.

"He is." Logan and Carlos state together. The sadness that I'm painfully familiar with back in Logan's voice.

And tears begin fall down my face, unsure of where they came from and unsure if I can stop. I'm blubbering like a child, my hand covering my mouth to stop the noises, and Logan just stares ahead at the passing outside lights as I drive normally. The life is beginning to remit into his eyes, yet he's unsure of what to do.

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Chhhappter doone!

This was the chapter I was most excited for, so I'm not sure when I'll be updating next.

And anyone who's made it this far in this depressing fic (it does get happier, I promise!) deserves an award, I think :p

Please Review! :)


	4. The A Team

Hiya! Next chapter, whoohoo!

Thank you to **Just Fetching** (I was going to try and draw out the time until they met up with James, but I said screw it :p So luckily you didn't have to wait for long! haha :) Ya, I abuse james alot... so poor jamsey is definitely accurate :( Thank you so much for the review!), **WorldWide** (AWWH! Shank YOU SO MUCH! haha. I definitely wouldn't use those words to describe this story, but I apprectiate them so much! haha. Thank you for the review! And I'm excited to see where this story goes as well :p), **Liz Schmidt** (Hopefully the not knowing what to say is a good thing? Teehee? anyways, THANK YOU for the review! And update is here! Hope you like it :) ), and lastly Layra (Yes, poor James and everyone :( I can promise that it will eventually get better... after quite a bit of tortue, haha :p Here's the update! Hpe you like it and Thank you for the review!)

And thank you to everyone else whose favorited/alerted this story! It means a lot to me! :) :) :)

I don't think this is my best written chapter. I'm having a hard time with the James chapters, since his story is something I want to save for later. I just hope I do an accurate portrayal of a drug addiction and what it's like... eeek! And this is my shortest chapter! A whole 6 pages! I think that's a record for me! haha!

Sorry in advance for any errors!

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

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**(James' POV)**

Ever since things went downhill for me, I stupidly tore myself away from the guys. We hadn't talked in a few months anyway, I had actually come to believe that they had forgotten about me, moved on. I wasn't important anymore. So, I did what I thought they did, I moved on. I lost touch. I didn't think it would matter, that is until I saw the blurring images of their faces this evening.

They seemed so worried about me, the painful looks in their eyes as they stared at me...

It hurt to see.

And yet, there I was, and I couldn't think of a single thing to say! What do you say to your used-to-be best friends after four long and unfortunate years? Especially when you're half naked and are still as high as a kite!

I've had the night to think it over while working with my paying customers, and I still have yet to figure out what I should say to them.

It just isn't coming to me.

... It shouldn't be this difficult, should it?

Tommy, my manager, drives me up to what I assume to be Kendall's apartment. It's a privilege that would never have occurred if Kendall hadn't asked what would happen if I didn't show up. Truthfully, he can still read me like a book, because as soon as Tommy offered me to him for the night, that was the first idea to pop into my mind. Don't show up. But Kendall ruined that. And now, they have to see me like _this_, something that I never wanted to happen.

It's one of the reasons I left them behind in the first place. I never wanted them to know what I did. I was ashamed by it, and if I could keep the drug problem a secret, I would. I never wanted them to know, or else they would just stare at me, disappointment written in their eyes just like my Mom used to.

I never wanted them to look at me like my Mom did. They still liked me, I didn't want to ruin that!

... _But you did._

Driving up to the fancy apartment building, I look at the address and realize quickly that it's the penthouse suite. Wow, Kendall must be rich now...

"Don't screw this up. He has money, if you treat him well he might become a regular." Tommy speaks, hands on the wheel. With him it's all about business. It's like he doesn't even realize I'm human.

Sighing, I give him an 'I know,' and leave the warmth of the car. Just as I am about to shut the door, I hear Tommy yell, "And make sure it's in the dark, alright! I don't want another complaint about those damn marks on your arms."

I wince at his tone, hating his words and myself.

It's not my fault, it's just- scratching and picking your skin sometimes occurs if you have something bad in your... drug of choice, I guess. I try not to do it, but it's involuntary, almost. My hands have a mind of their own it seems, during those moments. But it's like I don't even have any control whatsoever.

_Face it, James. You haven't ever had control of anything in your life._

I enter the high-class building and watch from behind the glass doors as his car begins to make a horrible screech, whipping down the L.A road.

I take a deep breath, building myself up for this. I only saw them for a few shaky seconds. They blurred together like white rabbits hidden in a fog. Still visible, but barely there.

And then I realize that I just compared Kendall, Carlos and Logan to white rabbits in a fog, and I have to wonder, just how far gone am I?

Point being though, I could only recognize Kendall by those green eyes, the same with Carlos and Logan with their similar deep brown ones. When I enter the elevator, I know that I'm ill equipped to handle this. I'm scared, anxious. My breath quickens and it's as if I'm experiencing a panic attack.

My hand darts to the back of my jeans, finding a small pink pill in the recesses of my dark jean pocket.

Without even knowing what it is, I take it dry. The taste is immediate and god awful, but maybe I can ask for some alcohol, or even water. That should quicken the process. For some reason, liquid always makes the high come quicker, which is completely fine by me.

Sniffling and brushing my nostril, the metal doors open with a beep and entices me to exit. I just happen to stand still.

Kendall is on the end of this small hall. The door is only a few feet in front of me. He's behind there, waiting for me... Maybe he's forgotten? Maybe I wasn't just imagining the smell of whiskey on his breath, and he's fallen into an intoxicated slumber.

One can only hope.

One foot. Two foot. I enter the looming... wait, what am I even in? It's like a small room before the entrance into the penthouse. You couldn't even call this a hallway.

For now, I shall call it 'Entrance Room'. Big, scary, demeaning Entrance Room. Ya, that sounds accurate.

My hand barely even begins to press the doorbell when the door opens at an impossible speed. A blur of blond hair grabs me by my biceps and forces me into the huge yet luxurious room.

Before I even know what's happening, I'm pressed down onto a couch, a harsh slap that reminds me of my Mother's so many years ago, creates a dull pain against my cheek.

If it bruises, Tommy is not going to be happy.

I watch as Carlos- Carlos is here?- comes up from behind the enraged Kendall, grabbing his wrist so he isn't able to hit me once again.

Logan too, I notice, stands near the granite countertop, a bottle of water in his hand. There's a disappointed expression written on his face and I have a feeling that it's me rather than Kendall that he's disappointed with.

That's what I never wanted to see.

Disappointment. Can't they tell that I'm not perfect like them, and that disappointment is just something that's obviously going to come with me around?

I'm always a disappointment. A failure. My Mom used to say that to me all the time, with either her words or her looks, and I know that she's right. I know that I won't, nor can I, ever change. I will always be a failure. I could never do anything right.

"... H-how are you?" Carlos asks, voice breaking the tension of the glorious room. It's so grand and pretty, just like the modern and beautiful rooms within a blockbuster film. It's almost unreal how clean and amazing it is. Only a few lights are on, and they are all a very dim, darkened orange-like colour, creating an almost romantic atmosphere.

I bet you any money Logan probably picked those light bulbs ad lamps out with Camille. He's always been in touch with his feminine side.

"James?" The Latino asks again, and I can hear the inconsistency in his voice. He doesn't know what to do with me, either.

What do you say to a drug addict?

I lift a hand to my head and through the grime of my hair, beginning to giggle ludicrously. I have to wonder, just how awful did I look? The images of myself against a large, leather couch, giggling away while feeling my hair are laughable to me. I don't know why, but it's funny.

"Fine," I answer giddily, eyes fluttering between opened and closed while I smile.

And I know it takes all of Kendall's self control to not hit me once again, as if smacking me will pull me away from this state.

I wish it were that easy.

"God damnit!" Kendall screeches, pulling at his own hair in front of me.

Logan sighed, putting his glass of water back down on the perfect counter of the perfect kitchen in the perfect house, that could have been mine if I was talented and perfect like my friends.

Logan brushes his hand over my forehead, my guess feeling for a fever. He brushes my eyelids close and drags my shutting body down towards the soft cushions of the couch, asking when I have to return to work. I shake my head, answering that I have the next day off, so not until Thursday night. My words blend together, so I'd be surprised if he understood what I meant.

"Go to sleep, James. We'll talk in the morning." He whispers to me gently, his mint smelling breath brushing with warmth against my ear.

A flowing blanket that reminds me of home at the Palm Woods surrounds my form. I snuggle into the comforts, a happy sigh escaping my lips. I can hear yelling in the background, but I don't catch the words spoken. Instead my drug induced sleep pulls me back further into my memories.

Although, I do catch the words 'Drugs', 'Striper', and 'Idiot' being said, and it hurts, but only a little. Whatever I took is numbing me to that sort of pain.

It's funny. I remember the first few times I tried doing drugs. It was E, the rave drug, yet I did it while I was home alone. I always saw people at parties high on the drug, and they always did such crazy, insane things. I never wanted someone to see me like that, clinging, sweaty, horny, touching everything in sight and telling truths that didn't need to be spoken.

The first few times I tried I felt nothing, that is until I took a large dosage. I remember listening to the same song on repeat because it sounded magnificent. In actuality it was some stupid pop song that was some kids show's theme song. I think Victorious was its name, or something? Whatever it was, it seemed like the greatest most awesome thing at the time. And yet, to this day I can't listen to the song without getting shivers up my spine.

That night I toppled my upper body side to side as everybody slept. That movement was so- There are no words to explain the euphoria I was experiencing. I danced like a maniac, but I kept my voice low when I sung.

Eventually I found myself on the floor, rolling on the carpet because I just loved the feeling of it through my fingertips. I was laughing at everything and loving life to its fullest. I hadn't been that happy in a while.

The next day, after staying up the entire night, was horrible. I couldn't focus on anything, and everything still looked shiny and emphasized. The wood floor in the kitchen was just begging me to lie on it, scrape my hands over its wood. I just wanted to touch it. My hands and body were sweaty and shaking, I could barely even write a signature to save my life. I couldn't stop looking at my face in the mirror, my eyes falling on my extremely dilated pupils. They looked so cool and almost as if they were glazed over. I just couldn't look away.

I wondered briefly if there had been anything else within the E, as it could be very possible. But how would I ever know, especially after I had already taken the powder.

And that's when the 'Down' came. I wanted to be left alone, under my covers and seemingly rot away. A tabloid had said another cruel thing about me. It wasn't even bad, but it got to me. I cried for hours because of it. And when I finally forced myself to look in the mirror, my eyes and body almst back to normal yet still shaky as I noticed my disheveled hair and the large bags under my eyes. How had my friends not noticed this when we were at the studio? I looked hideous.

I stopped myself then, at the hideous comment, and I tried to point out all the good things about myself, but I couldn't find anything. Mirror James didn't come to my rescue this time.

With red rimmed, puffy eyes and dried tear streaks plastered against my cheeks, there was nothing left beautiful about me.

That night, I took another dosage, trying to escape the self loathing and incomprehensible pain I was feeling.

At first for me, it did start out as a once every week or two weeks thing at night, whilst everyone was asleep. But within a month, if the down was becoming worse and longer, or I just had an overall bad day, I would get high the next night, right afterwards.

I began needing larger dosages to get myself back up to that original high.

At other parties that we were frequently invited to, other things began to become available. Percocet's, K, coke, you name it. I refused to try heroine. That stuff messed with you, and broke men and women incredibly more intelligent than myself. If they couldn't handle it, I knew I couldn't either, especially with how I was reacting to a physically 'non-addictive' drug like Ecstasy.

Eventually, I was almost doing something different every night. I just didn't want to reach that down. It was horrible, like living through a vivid nightmare, or being stuck in the deepest depression without an escape. It all came tumbling down on me at once and I couldn't handle it.

But then my body started butting in, needing it. It shook and forced me to throw up if I didn't get 'it' in time. 'It' being any drug in general. It just needed something to function.

And that's when I knew I was too far in. I knew I could never escape.

A beautiful angel sang to me in the form of liquids, powders and pills. I stupidly listened and raised my white flag, surrendering to the voice that was begging me to come over to its side.

Once surrendered, there was no escape.

There was no control.

As long as that voice kept calling out to me, I was a lost cause.

Why should my friends even bother with me when I've given up on myself?

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Chhapppter donne!

... Hopefully it wasn't awful?

I don't know the next time I'll update this. Hopefully soon! But we'll see. My time is coming down to the wire until I have to leave for university, so I'm trying to write as much as I can before school starts, since I'll probably be extremely busy when it does. Which means inspiration is cutting me deep lately, and I have quite a few other fics I want to start posting! :)

So I'm sorry about the short length, next chapter I believe is quite long! And it will get better, everything in the beginning is very sullen, angsty and depressing :( I'm sorry! I'm just trying to get the characterization down, and make everyone sound different, hopefully I'm doing well? :P

Please Review!


	5. Somebody That I Used to Know

Hey everyone, sorry for the late update! Everything has been so hectic lately and I haven't had a chance to write as much as I've wanted. My first year of University just started, and I'm already drowned in homework, so I'm not sure how often I'll be updating, but I'll try for as often as I can! Also, not going to lie, whatever free time I did have, I ended up reading more fanfiction rather than writing, just because so many of my favorites were updated at the same time, so Yay!

Thank you Just Fetching (Thank you! And Kendall's reaction was my favorite as well. Have definitely been in that position, not for drugs (thank god!) but still, gah! I wish a slap could knock some sense into people, life would be so much easier :p Thank you for the review!) and Layra (Thank you for the review! The reason he does drugs will be revealed, but I won't say how soon ;) And here's the new chapter, hope you enjoy!), BigTimeWriterAndRead, Kames-Cargan's Worldwide Girl, sonovabitchwinchester, I'mJustAVirusInsideYourHead, anykindofgirl, CarganFever for the favorites/alerts! It means so much you don't even know!

Hope you all enjoy the next chapter :) it's rather angsty once again... fuck!

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

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**(Kendall's POV)**

He was high. He was fuckin' blazed when he showed up! Did he do it himself, or did his Fatty-ass manager or another customer get him high before us?

How am I supposed to handle this? I know little to nothing about drugs. Sure, when we were in Big Time Rush, we had been offered drugs a countless number of times. I, however, never took any, and neither did Carlos. I thought James had been on the same track as us. And Logan, only occasionally, smoked pot with Guitar Dude. Occasionally being three times a year, potentially four. James always scolded him because it could 'cause damage to his vocal chords and lungs. And because of the over 5 hour long lectures, Logan kept his pot intake to a bare minimum.

That was as far as we ever went with drugs. So many of our friends, or higher up celebrities just fell to the power and control that drugs seem to hold over you. Everything in your life is given to the drug. It's like the drug has a sort of God complex, the people under its grasp having to bow down to its every command.

I just didn't understand it, and I hated what it did to people. And besides, I had my alcohol. Who needed drugs when you already had something legal in your hands?

Well, apparently me, Carlos and Logan were the only ones to follow that belief, obviously.

It's 5 am in the morning and it's my shift to watch over James. We took turns all night, in case he either started vomiting in his sleep, or woke up and promptly decided to leave our lives again. I know the only reason he came last night was because his boss brought him, like I requested. I could just understand that look in James' eyes as soon as that idea appeared. It comforted me only a little that I could still read him like a book.

The Los Angeles sun is just beginning to rise, the extended rays falling forward through the large window, and directly onto James.

They make him look almost angelic and peaceful.

Even with the paleness of his skin and the grease in his hair, or even the tiniest bit of stubble on his chin, he still looked completely beautiful in my eyes.

He sleeps quietly, the rise and fall of his chest rhythmic and endearing.

With a large sigh, I take a mug from Logan's cabinets and begin to raid his alcohol drawer. At first, I wasn't at all surprised that he barely had anything. Now? I have almost raided the entire area, and what little had been there is practically all gone. So, I grab the first and last bottle of spiced rum I found, (Camille's favorite, I run through my head momentarily – I'm doing Logan a favour by emptying it for him, now he doesn't have to look at it any longer and remind himself of Camille!) and pour it into the mug.

As soon as it's in my hand, I begin drinking it straight.

Is it sad that it just kind of tastes like water?

"It's a little early to be drinking, isn't it?" A groggy and rough around the edges voice appears behind me. I half expect it to be Logan, the boy with the sleeping issues as of late, but when I turn, it's James whose sitting upright, his hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

That bare look in the familiar hazel is still there, as well as the extremely dilated pupils.

"It's too early to be high, isn't it?" I spit back at him with venom. James doesn't even flinch. Instead, he glances around the large room, grimacing a little. He shrugs and turns to me, eyes fluttering between being open and closed.

"Nice place you got here," He states, the sleep still prominent as he sways against the leather couch.

"It's not mine. It's Logan's."

"Oh..."

"I live in Minnesota." I reply before James even can utter another sentence. I promptly decide that I'm going to tell him about everything he's missed, force him to realize of the damages he's done, and get him back into our lives. It's the only thing I can think of doing.

"I play forward for the Minnesota Wild. Carlos is a firefighter in some small town in Florida."

"Daytona Bay," James whispers eerily. I, of course, arch my eyebrow in confusion, unsure as to why James knows where Carlos lives. "Ya, Daytona Bay... And Logan and Camille were married-"

"Were?"

He knows where Carlos lives, and yet he has no idea about Camille? The alcohol in my system begins to boil, and I take another gulp of the spiced rum within my fingertips. "She's dead, James." I state brutally, and I watch as the news sinks into him. "It's the reason why we're all here, for her funeral."

"Dead?" He mutters, eyes wide and unbelieving. He searches my own cruel gaze, begging me to say that it's all a lie. I shake my head, giving him the one answer he's praying not to hear. James gets up in an instant, walking over to the door, eyes now brimming with tears.

"You know, I should get going. Diane- she's probably looking for me-" With that he runs like a child from the apartment. I should go after him. I should bring him back here. I should, but I don't.

Because a girl named Diane, someone who's probably looking for him at 5 am in the morning, is ringing like laughter inside my head.

Diane's probably his girlfriend. A lover.

Relationship.

_Never yours, never yours, never yours._

I swing the rest of the spiced rum, swallowing it whole. Only now do I feel an actual buzz.

* * *

"Where is he? !" Carlos and Logan yell in unison as they race around the apartment. After James left, I sat myself on a stool in front of the bar before the kitchen, and I haven't moved an inch yet. So far, three hours have passed, and my ass is now completely numb. Oh joy.

"He left." I state easily. The mug in my hand has been alcohol free for awhile now, and instead water has filled it's empty space to the brim.

Logan's eyes open ferociously wide as his mouth gapes. He brings himself over to the kitchen, placing himself just in front of me on the other side of the bar."He just left?"

"Yup."

"And you just let him leave?"

"Seems to be that way,"

Instead of the yelling of incoherent stream of consciousness that I thought would be tumbling my way, Logan just turns, hands on his head and lets out a frustrated cry. Then he leaves to the seclude himself in his bedroom once again, a familiarity that has been occurring far too often within this household.

"What if we can't find him again?" Carlos asks me, his voice so small and confused.

"You saw how he was, there's no way he's going to give up his job just to avoid us. We just have to go back to that gay bar when he's working on Thursday, if that's the case."

Carlos is about to answer me back, but my phone interrupts, my 'unknown caller' ringtone of the Austin Powers theme song cutting through the air.

"Oh, it's probably my Coach wondering if I'm still going back to Minnesota in three weeks. Be right back."

I swiftly leave the living room and fly up the stairs to my own guest suite. It's small. A single bed, with a nightstand and a dresser with an old honking T.V. on it. The phone's ring is still blaring in my ears as I answer it.

"Hello?" I ask almost annoyed.

"K-kendall?" My heart immediately stops. I can hear cars in the background and yelling. Most importantly, I can hear the sound of the scared intake of breaths.

"James?"

"Y-ya, I-"

"How'd you get my number?" I screech into the phone, and I can practically see James flinching at my not-so-nice tone.

"You wrote it down on the form, remember? I memorized it..." His voice breaks at the end of his sentence. He takes a large gulp of air before hesitantly saying "I need the money for last night... "

"Oh, right... That- How much?"

I can hear him clear his throat, a car beep riveting through the phone's speaker. "500$... I'm sort of on high demand, Kendall. But we gave you a deal because Tommy thinks you'll become a regular."

So many emotions begin to move around me from that one sentence alone I don't even know where to begin. High fucking demand? Regular? What the actual fu-

"So you need the 500$?" I say, cutting myself off from my own thoughts.

It's good to know that I can still read him like a book, because I know James asking me is a last resort. If he could, he would probably pay for the 'night' himself. "Where are you? I'll pick you up." The cruel bite in my voice has yet to leave.

"I'm sorry," He interrupts.

"Just tell me where you are."

"Near a Costco, Telegraph Rd."

"I'll get there when I get there." I huff, and before he can give me a reply, I click the phone off. I tell Carlos that I'm going out to buy some food, since we're in desperate need, and take the keys of our rental vehicle with me.

You know, if this was for any other person, I probably wouldn't even bother. I mean, I'm giving into a drug addict's needs. I should be helping him by saying 'No', but instead I'm going to give him money.

What is it with James that can just turn all of my morals around?

* * *

Want to know something I hate about druggies? They have no morals. Everything revolves around the drugs. They use and lose friends, steal, take what's not theirs, and beg for help and forgiveness. They lose track of reality and push everything that's right, away.

That's exactly what James did, and just look how he's doing.

He's currently pretending to sleep against the car door, while I search for a small place to have lunch so I can give him the money. It's the way his chest is moving and how his breaths are out of rhythm that clues me in to the fact that he isn't asleep. Good to know some things never change.

"James, we're here, buddy." I say, gently shoving James against the shoulder, forcing him to open those beautiful eyes that anyone could get lost in.

His long lashes flutter open as he begins to meekly move about within his seat. His gaze falls upon the outside of the window, glancing around to see where we are. "Okay," He says with an exaggerated yawn.

We enter the small family restaurant and a waitress quickly shows us our seats. It isn't until I begin reading the menu that I notice that James seems agitated. He's biting his nails and licking his lips constantly, both small habits that he picked up from me during our Big Time Rush days. His body is shaking slightly, and if it's possible, he seems even more pale, shaky and sweaty.

"Do you know what you're having?" I state none too kindly. The questions take off the obvious pain due to the high my friend seems to be coming down from.

"N-nothing."

I arch an eyebrow, wanting to say something snarky, but I just exhale instead. Eyeing my twitching friend up, I obtain my wallet from the back of my pants and bring out the money. "500$"

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, James."

"But-"

"James," I state, my pointer finger dabbing against the table's top. "It's fine. I knew what I was paying for when I signed that form for the night. It's alright. Just take it and don't feel bad."

And just for a smidgen of a second, he looks as if he's about to cry. But as soon as it appears, it resides, leaving a blank stare in its passing.

"Thank you,"

"It's nothing."

A pretty young waitress who chews her pink gum for all the world to see comes up and asks for our order. James shuffles in his seat, unsure of how to answer. Well, probably. After seeing him at the bar, I raced home and researched as much as I could about drugs. They're probably making him see things in distortions, such as a plate of pancakes or granola or just food in general will look like vomit. Okay, maybe not actually, but the truth of the matter is, James doesn't want to eat because it'll make him throw up.

He's so fuckin skinny that I could care less about what he wants and doesn't want. He's going to eat, even if it does make him feel sick.

Also, the kid probably doesn't seem to have any extra money. Even if he is on 'High Demand', he probably couldn't pay for a meal to save his life.

"Uhm, can I get the Spicy Buffalo Chicken Melt with a side of fries, and a chicken noodle soup with a side of salad for Twitchy over there?" I point towards James, the shocked expression on his face is apparent and comedic.

"Of course," She says crudely, biting her gum with over exaggeration before taking away our menus with her long witch like red fingernails...

James plays with his fingers on his lap, glancing around cutely. Finally, he lets out a loud sigh, stating innocently "You seem different, Kendall... It's weird, not going to lie."

I arch my now plucked brow. "How so?"

"I don't know, it's just- I saw you drinking at 5 am this morning, that isn't normal... And you've been acting down and mean and everything with Camille and I- I don't know, never mind." He avoids my questioning gaze the entire time.

Huffing and letting out a small laugh, I say, "People change, James. It's usually what happens over the course of four years. But, I guess you wouldn't have noticed any of those little changes, because you weren't there to begin with."

He flinches and I know it was a severe low blow, but I could care less.

A couple in the booth are grabbing my attention. They are all up in each other's space, hands tightly clenched around the others lovingly. They also keep making kissy faces, and it sickens me. Why? Because one is blond, and the other is brunette. The next problem?

They're both men. James, I know, follows my gaze, eyes landing on the two gross men in the booth opposite to us. His eyes twitch between the two men and me, questions beginning to arise. He especially notices how I shift awkwardly in my own seat, a small bulge beginning to form when the two men fall into a passionate kiss, tongue and all. The blonds leg skims up the brunette's legs, toe nudging his crotch. He inhales deeply into the kiss and-

Fuck.

"Kendall-" James tries, tone sympathetic.

"Shut up, James." I snap. And it surprises me that he does. He slumps further down into his seat, as if trying to become one with the inanimate object.

Our food comes, and I bury it inside my mouth savagely. James takes a bite or two, before he declares himself full.

I pay for the entire bill, even against James' wishes. And, as we wait outside the restaurant, I rub circles against the small of James' back as he throws up whatever little contents he just managed to eat.

Once he stops, he lifts himself extremely shakily. With his hands shivering and trembling, he says, "I need a smoke."

And that's that.

We get into the car, I stop by a 7/11, buy a pack of cigarettes, and watch as James does the one thing I thought he'd never do in his entire life.

He smokes a joint, and to me, it's worse than seeing him high. I can just hear his 18 year old self giving Logan all those lectures about smoking pot, how it damages lungs, vocal chords and throat for five hours straight.

I thought James would be more likely to shave his head then to ever smoke a cigarette.

I guess I was wrong yet again.

* * *

I dropped James off at some random corner in the banking area of L.A. Before he takes off I tell him to call me whenever he needed to, or just stop off at the apartment. I made sure not to leave him without a guilt trip that pretty much engraved the fact that he'd call me again. Now, it's been almost 14 hours since I've dropped him off, and I still have yet to return to Logan's.

Both him and Carlos have left a colourful variety of phone calls, text messages and voice mails on my phone. They have yet to get the hint that I am not going to pick up or head to Logan's house any time soon.

I parked my car and grabbed a beer in a water bottle from the back. Under the L.A lights of the city, I begin to walk aimlessly, thinking about anything and everything. There is a large man holding onto his young son's hand on the opposite side walk next to me, as he walks across the road towards a park. An elderly man trails after them, laughing at the two in front of him. The way the men are smiling at whatever the little kid is saying reminds me so much of my own Dad and Grandfather that it almost hurts.

You know, it's funny. I always imagined that when my Grandpa died, a bundle of angels came down from the heavens above and just carried his soul off whilst he slept. I remember how a month after his passing, I was too afraid to go to fall asleep. To me, it was obvious. If they came and took my Papa in the middle of the night, what would stop them from taking me? My mom held me and tried to reason with me, but she didn't want to tell me quite yet, an eight year old child, that my Papa had died in pain. He had a severe stroke in the middle of the night which had him gasping and withering on the floor, crying out for help.

My Mom, as well as my Dad, were raised heavily within the Catholic Church. She let me make my own choices as I grew up, but she made her beliefs known. Something we never talked about, except hearing about how horrific it was during Thanksgiving Dinner from the mouth of my Grandmother and Grandfather from her side, was homosexuality.

I just grew up in an environment where it was unacceptable. I always believed that if that's who you were, why hide it? That's why I have nothing against gays, except for what they do to me.

That belief of being true to who you are always stopped at me. I couldn't be gay! My Mom, my wonderful Mother and little sister and amazing Father would disown me, the only family I have left.

What would my Dad say? If my nightmares gave me any ideas, hatred and abandonment isn't a farfetched idea. He's constantly flying through the clouds in planes, travelling as a pilot. He barely ever comes home, but what if he found out I was gay? Would he ever want to come home and see me after that?

And what about my Papa on my Father's side, the one who died a horrible death? If my Papa is up there with the angels right now, can he see everything I've done, felt, thought? What if he already knows the little horrific secret? What if he's already disowned me, saying that I am not a part of his family? I don't think I could deal with that.

I love my Dad. I love my Mom. I love my family.

I don't want to do anything to hurt them or embarrass them, ever.

But when I watched James earlier, picking at his food, sucking on his straw while drinking a glass of Orange juice, I noticed the way his cheeks hollowed while he sipped a particularly deep suck against the straw.

My imagination went wild.

He's my friend, whose suffering from the embarrassment of being found as a pole dancer/stripper and being an addict, and all I can think about is how amazing he would be during sex. I can imagine it even now, he'd probably moan ludicrously, putting a porn star to shame. Sweat dripping, him gasping, and all that practice he gets at work, I bet he's amazing at blowjobs. His heading bobbing up and down my member, the slick sheen on my hard-on as I grab onto his hair.

The images become darker and more arousing and continue to play through my head like a movie.

_His bare arms roam over your body, needing to feel ever inch of your being._

I c-can't stop it. What would my Grandparents say?

_He's begging for you to continue, marring your neck to show everyone that your his._

Would Katie be offended if her brother turned out to be gay?

H_e writhes underneath you, back arching before he shakily switches positions, riding you at a crucial speed. He's panting, begging, and barely able to hold himself up right as you pound into him relentlessly, his inner heat too much to bare-_

My eyes widen as I feel I'm about to puke. What would my Mom and Dad say?

A light accompanied by a large bundle of black noise is drifting towards me. Time is moving too fast around me. It's as if I'm at the speed of light, watching everything stop but here I am, still going at light speed. Too quick. Too quickly.

When, when did life becomes like this?

_James._

Would my Mom and Dad hate me?

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

The noise increases at a frightening speed. My foot falls from the concrete against harsh pavement. The light is coming closer as the noise increases.

My Mom and Dad would hate me!

A pair of warming arms embrace me from behind and swivel around my waist, lifting me from the road and practically throwing me against the sidewalk's pavement.

A car, that's still honking away, flips me off as he drives by, his speed never once faltering.

The arms hug my waist a little tighter and the body presses tightly against my own. I let my back fall into the securing embrace. A man's haughty breath flows down my neck as he speaks into my ear, sending miraculous shivers down my spine. "You should always look twice before crossing the road, Kendall."

I turn around in his arms, eyes meeting up with none other than James. Of course! Fate wouldn't have it any other way, would it? I shove him away slightly, noticing the slightly crude and almost pedophiliac-like smile. Creepy. Lopsided. He's yet again jittery and bouncing up and down. He's sniffling and itching the outer layer of his nose.

With all of that, it's the bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils that tell me he's high off of something.

"I think you should thank me, Mr. Indestructible, for saving you." He says with a seductive wink on the darkened L.A street.

Sighing and glancing away from my sick friend, I can barely find the proper words to form a coherent sentence. "Ya, thanks. I guess."

James begins to giggle loudly, shaking his head ferociously from side to side. "Kendall, Kendall, Kendall. You really have changed my friend."

"So have you."

"Ya, but I have reasons to be like this. You-" He points wickedly towards me and I notice a few people beginning to stop on the sidewalk around us, interested in this bizarre public 'argument' we seem to be having. "-Don't. You've lived your dreams, why are you drinking so much! I just- I jus donget it." His words are slurring together and I rolls my eyes. Well, here's to another sleepless night of looking after James. Technically it's only night 2, and truthfully, if it helps my friend, I'd do it every night until I die.

I grab him by his boney wrist and begin fighting my way through the interested people, barking at them to move while James only giggles like a fricken idiot behind me. There's a motel about 2 blocks away, and I figure that the car is fine for the time being so no point in trying to find it and move it when James is near collapsing against my side.

I somehow manage to get us up into the room that I buy for the night. The secretary at the desk that gave us the room gave us the most grotesque look. I almost snapped saying that she's in Hollywood, as long as you have legs, you're fuckable, no matter the gender. I didn't, but if I had more alcohol, which I so desperately needed in my system, I might have.

Better yet, I notice immediately as I set James down onto the perfectly made bed that the room has a minibar.

A few shots of tequila and that secretary may end up having to hear me give her a speech about that 'Look' she gave me. Also, I'm just helping a friend! It's not like I drugged him and brought him here to do him. Of course not!

She's a presumptuous bitch if that's what she believes!

I begin gallivanting around the room, bottle of whiskey in my hand (the tequila was cheap crap and was not as effective), watching as everything becomes one.

Things begin to move around me, spinning me in circles. I fall into a happier daze, my problems seeming to rise from my shoulders for the time being.

Yah, this is a fine good whiskey.

I fall against the bed, realizing now that we just happened to get a bedroom with one double sized bed.

Fuck.

Well, luckily, James has already passed out and seems to be having a severe dream, because he's tossing and turning and sputtering out random things extremely loudly.

My head falls against the pillow and I hug myself against the cold I feel from not being under the blankets.

My own escape of blacking out and/or passing out is nearing, taking me away into its dark and spinning depths when I hear James' repeated words "Beau," and "Preston."


	6. I'm Not Okay I Promise

Hello! ... Well, I am certainly not writing as much as I would like to be... Stupid homework/reading! Haha. I'm going to try and upload weekly, if not more, but if I can't, I'm sorry! I'm trying! I just have too much to do! :p

Thank you **Layra** (Haha, Here's another chapter my dear! :)), **jamiecakes85** (Awwwh! Thank you, I'm trying to go for descriptive here! This def def is not anywhere near amazing, but thank you for thek idn words! I love them! :D ), **kamessex** (Lolz, this one made me laugh! I'm working on it! I'm hoping to have it up by mid October, if you cam wait that long? I'm sorry! I was hoping to have it up in August, but plans changed :( BUt let it be known, I am currently writing it, it's just taking some time! :) Thank you!), **Just Fetching **(Awwh, thank you! I need as much luck as I can get :) And here you are, the next chapitre! There isn't much in this chapter, I think, but hopefully you'll like it! Thank you so much for the review!), and **I'mJustAVirusInsideYourHead** (This review made me laugh as well. Don't worry, I'm the same. It upsets me quite abit, and yet I can't stop writing it :/ I'm shocked that people are actually reading it! :D And hmmm, I can't think of that particular word, sorry! But here's the next next, hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the review!). And thank you to everyone who has favorited/alerted this story! It makes me so happy!

Aaaand, in the holy name of hell, James Maslow is hot in drag. I'm a chick, who isn't into the same gender (but am completely fine with those who are) and dammit... he was hot. I swear, he's like, the perfect guy, gah! Too hot to handle ;p

Sorry for any grammartical errors in advance, I think this one is pretty good, but I'm not 100%. Let's hope!

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

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**(James POV)**

A body is pressed close against my own. The first thing I begin to think is how I had the night off last night, and that I shouldn't have had to work with customers, so why am I sleeping next to someone, and why am I in a bed?

Usually when I awake unknowingly in someone else's bed, I just go with it. A padded mattress is a privilege now a days. I'll take the comfort over waking up on the streets any day... or the couch at Evan's house or at the bar. I begin shifting around, noticing how me and the unknown are on top of the comforters, rather than underneath. It's bizarre, but maybe this customer has a kink? I will never know. Last night is too much of a blur after Kendall dropped me off.

The second thing that hits me like a ticking time bomb is just how god awful I feel. I'm excruciatingly dizzy, and it feels as if my stomach is painfully full, which only makes me want to throw up. My head is killing me and my entire body feels heavy as the high is slowly coming down.

"Nnggh," I let out, beginning to shift on the comforter and hold onto my stomach from the searing pain I'm experiencing.

I really shouldn't have had that much last night. I tried, but the high wasn't coming fast enough, or strong enough, so I did another two lines.

Then it hit me all at once.

I felt invincible, indestructible. I could do anything and everything. I could save the world if I wanted to... Sometimes the euphoria I experience hits me when I'm down at my lowest, forcing me to realize how stupid that sounds, how that would never happen.

The arms wrap around me from behind and I quickly inhale, quieting my gasp. The person brings me closer to their own body for warmth. I only stiffen, unable to move at such close proximities without exclusive, sexual touching. They never hug me the day after, they just tell me to get out.

Who is this? I begin to turn, my head instantly regretting the movement as the dull throb flares. I hiss loudly, latching onto my skull.

"Mmmm, 5 more minutes Mommy." The recognizable voice mutters out, deep within his sleep.

And I begin to smile, because I know the voice belongs to Kendall.

"Well, unfortunately, I'm not 'Mommy' but if you don't move within the next 5 minutes, I might have to ground you." I say with a sly tone. I feel Kendall begin to twist and writher against my backside as he comes back to the land of the living.

"Mmmehh... J-James?" He whispers, beginning to yawn. His warm breath looms around the nape of my neck, sending a shivering chill down my backside.

"Ya?" And this is the moment that Kendall realizes he isn't dreaming. He's spooning me, and he's seeming to enjoy it. I am in his arms, right there, and he freaks out, needless to say. He tears his arms from around my waist and jumps from the bed, landing none to gracefully on the floor's carpet.

"What happened? Why were you holding me like that, you fr-freak!" He screeches. I turn from my position, but remain lying against the bed rather than try to lift myself up in my current condition.

I mockingly raise an eyebrow at his freaked out expression. "I didn't do anything, that was all you." I finish off with a cute wink and a lick to my lips, and watch as Kendall inwardly shudders. It's fun to freak him out. It's so easy now. I could never even manage to embarrass him all those years back when he played 'Leader'.

"Sh-shut up!" He stutters out pathetically.

I bite my lip with seduction and begin to lift myself from the bed, walking through stumbles closer to the blond. "I don't see why I have to. I wasn't the one with my arms around you, was I?" I suddenly have a feeling that this a is a sore spot for Kendall. His shoulders hunch down, letting his head hang from low to his chest.

I instantly take a step back. I never meant to hurt his feelings, I was just trying to have some fun. Lighten the mood when I felt so rotten. Why did I have to screw everything up!

"Look, man, I'm sorry! I was joking!"

Kendall's head snaps up at me at an incredible rate, and he roughly stomps towards me and shoves me onto the bed in his sudden rage. "I said shut up!"

And I do. I don't say anything as I can feel myself tremble at the down overtaking my body. God I hate this. I can hear shuffling of glass bottles to my far right, and my eyes glance around to see Kendall rummaging through the already half used minibar. And that's when I begin to look around.

Empty bottles lay strewn around the room. On the floor, on the counter, on the TV, on the table. Just how much did Kendall drink last night?

Maybe it's the alcohol that's been affecting his mood. That would make sense...

I quickly note the time and then decide to force Kendall away from the alcohol drawer.

"Kendall, stop!" My voice breaks as I grab onto his arm, failing as I try pulling him away with desperation. "Kendall, please! It's 6 o'clock in the morning, you shouldn't be drinking! Please!"

"Like you're no better?" He scoffs, finding a half empty glass of cheap tequila and beginning to drink away it's remains. He pushes me away and I stumble backwards, hitting a wall in the far corner. I watch with despair as the alcohol overtakes my friend in seconds.

"What-what happened to you?" I whisper, the stale air taking away my words.

"I could ask you the same question." He states, sipping the tequila and falling back down onto the unclean bed, turning on the T.V.

I notice the sounds of a buzzer, and sticks slapping against the ice. I turn and realize that a hockey game is being replayed and two of the players instantly get into a fight, which makes Kendall groan. "Hockey isn't about fighting! It's about scoring a damn goal, not wrestling on ice, fuckin' pansies," I hear him mutter. The last words die down, and they barely even register within my own mind.

I stand back, almost afraid of my friend. Wow, what did I take last night? I'm usually never afraid...

I take a large inhale of breath, trying to regain some composure, dignity and courage as I walk my way towards the angered blond. "Ken-Kendall, please. Just give me the bottle-" I ask, hands falling over the cold glass.

"No James, jut get away from me! I am a grown man, I can make my own damned decisions." He screams.

I flinch, but I don't stop from trying to get it away. But- I'm too weak. Old, 21 year old, muscular James could do this. But not me, not 24-going-on-25 year old, drug addicted James. Kendall's right, I am a freak. I'm doing everything I use to hate.

"Kendall, this isn't good for you, will you please just-" I somehow manage to intertwine my hands around the glass, shoving it out of Kendall's grip. I watch as the glass flies across the room and shatters onto the floor, the tequila being suctioned into the already stained carpet.

The look Kendall throws at me- I'd probably be dead right now if looks could kill.

People are wrong when they say that drug addicts are the scariest people out there. At least we know it's bad for you. We tell anyone we can to never try anything, don't do it. Alcoholics are almost constantly in a state of denial. It's legal, so how is it harmful, right?

But to me, seeing how the alcohol has changed my friend, as he yells over something as simple as spilled tequila on the carpet, I have to reconsider.

Ya, drug addicts are scary.

But so are alcoholics.

I rub my hand over my cheek, unsure of how to process this. The yelling from Kendall about the tequila is accentuating the headache and the throbbing I was already feeling.

Somehow I manage to wake my feet up and start walking. I flop onto the bed, surprised when Kendall soon joins me, turning up the volume on the T.V.

I bring the covers over my body, passing out in mere seconds.

A dream fills my sleep. I can see a Mother and a Father in a park, happy and laughing.

The Mother is curved in all the right places, long blonde hair hanging loose as she laughs at the playing child.

The man, who is blurred out of the picture, I can tell is laughing and smiling too. A small child runs up from the playground and into his arms, the Father giving the child a sloppy kiss on the cheek as the kid giggles loudly.

"Daddy, stop!" It boasters loudly.

The father sets the child down after the women playfully scowled him.

"Have fun, Beau!" Rings in my ears as the dream takes a dark turn..

My eyes scan around the area. It's as if I'm on a train track and all the bells are going off, telling me to get away. Except, I'm in a park, watching a little boy run around as his parents laugh. The noise of the oncoming invisible train worsens in my ears. A train's whistle begins going off wildly. The horrible sounds become louder as the two parents remain laughing as the child runs from their sights.

"Love you, Beau!" The man says, past all the crashes and explosions I keep hearing. A plane falls in the distance, a bomb explodes. I can't see anything, I can only hear it.

"Love you too, Daddy!" The child says.

And it stops. Everything turns black, and I am in the pit of darkness once again. Even on the brink of unconsciousness, I can still feel the tears fall down my face.

* * *

When I wake up, it's 10:40. Close to check out time, woohoo.

I shift under the heated covers, beginning to stretch and yawn at the days beginning. Scratching my head, I turn to see Kendall. Passed out like a light and snoring like a pro. The T.V is still on, a new game of hockey interrupting the silence of the room.

Groaning, I realize that I'm still in the same outfit I've been in since going over to Logan's... Ew.

Disgusting, gross, just all round ew! I'm James Diamond, no matter what people think, I still care deeply about what I look like, alright?

I glance back at the time, and realize with pity that three whole minutes have passed. So now I only have about 15 minutes to look presentable and check out on time.

I don't know how, but I manage. I take a shower and rinse the disgusting grime out of my hair that's built up over the past few days.

I get dressed into my worn-out outfit (I need to stop by the bar or Evan's to grab something better, and soon) and drag Kendall's wallet out from the back of his jeans along with the keys to his car.

With Kendall's money, I pay for our night stay, and return the key of the shabby room to the secretary. I somehow manage to drag Kendall down an open flight of stairs, and leave him with a card board sign that I somehow found on his lap. In my curvaceous hand writing with a black felt-tip pen (that the secretary so graciously let me use), I write the words 'Don't Touch Me, I'm Taken.' He's still passed out with his tongue hanging out, so it's not like he's ever going to know.

I leave him be, running off towards the direction of the car that I saw him park last night, the memories beginning to return to my throbbing head.

But, even with the throbbing, my head feels more clear and my body less shaky then it's been in days.

That's a plus, right?

* * *

The large door whips open after I ring the bell, and a shocked Logan hesitantly gets out of the way, allowing me to enter. I am currently holding Kendall's lump weight against my own, dragging him into the apartment. Carlos, who notices my exhausting predicament, runs up to us, and takes the passed out Kendall from my side.

"What happened?" Carlos asks, frightened for his friend. He lays Kendall against the cold floor, and slaps his cheeks, trying to wake him up.

"He drank too much alcohol and passed out earlier. He's staying here, isn't he? And not a hotel? Because if he's at a hotel I can bring him there if you guys want." I offer kindly. Truthfully, I'm a nervous wreck around my friends.

I don't want them to see me in this state, nor do I want to drag them down with me. I have to get away so I don't hurt them more. It's too painful to be here right now.

"No, Kendall's staying here." Logan pipes in, kneeling to the ground next to Kendall and checking his temperature.

He gives a look to Carlos who nods instantly. He picks himself up from the floor and takes Kendall into his arms. Turning away from us, he begins walking towards the staircase and to what I believe to be Kendall's room.

Logan is staring at my back, wanting me to make the first move.

Sheepishly, I turn and give him a shaky smirk. I point at the door and let an unstable laugh emit from my lips.

"I guess I better get going, my shift starts soon, so-"

"You're staying here, James. I'm not Kendall, so don't think that I'm going to let you go so easily." He says, crossing his arms against his chest with intimidation. I stop myself from walking closer to the door and my one chance at escape. Logan begins to shuffle around me, grabbing a phone and turning it on and tossing it towards me.

It fumbles in my shaking fingers, but at long last, I have a strong grip around the plastic.

"Call in sick." He orders. And I do what he says without any sort of refusal. I'm not even going to attempt going against Logan right now. Tommy, of course, gives me an earful and a huge lecture of how pitiful I am, and that I better be at work tomorrow or hell will be paid.. I just make a promise that I'll do a double shift later on during the week to make up for this lost time. That seems to work, and Tommy hangs up on the other end without even saying goodbye.

Carlos has now returned from Kendall's room, and put his arm around Logan's shoulder, holding the raven haired genius close to him.

Those two are still so close, and yet here are me and Kendall, so far and so lost.

Yet, I know me and Kendall still hold that same connection we had years ago. We can still read each other's thoughts as if it were second nature, as Carlos and Logan can do with each other only.

But we're no longer all in sync with each other.

Looking around, I realize that maybe it's because Logan and Carlos lost their friends, and held onto each other for comfort.

Me and Kendall went to drugs and alcohol to handle the stresses in our lives, so we can understand what we're going through. We both have problems, Logan and Carlos don't.

Maybe that's why everything has changed. It's not the years lost, it's that Carlos and Logan haven't been through the same thing me and Kendall have been through. They just don't understand, so that connection we used to share has been broken.

We no longer have gone through everything together...

Thank god, though.

"James, I think we need to talk." Logan says sternly and in a way that I know that if I refuse, bad things will happen to me.

"A-alright." I stutter out. My ego and confidence that I ever seemed to have has disappeared, taking away the interesting James Diamond with it.

He and Carlos pull me over to the large mahogany table, sitting me down in one of the chairs and setting a bottle of water in front of me. They offer me food, but I know that at the moment, I don't have the stomach to handle it.

Logan and Carlos both sit down next to me, wanting to touch and comfort me, but they aren't sure of how to proceed with that cautious step.

"I guess first things first." Logan suggests extremely politely, as if I have an option to get out of it. "We just want to know why you left us in the first place. We were worried sick, _are_ worried sick, James. Just what happened to our friend. Is it because the album didn't sell well?"

I want to scoff at that, but instead shake my head, replying with an audible 'No'. "It's funny what the entertainment industry will feed you to keep its secrets," I say softly, which I know only makes Logan and Carlos more confused and overly concerned.

"What do you mean?" Carlos prompts.

Sighing, I confide the truth to my friends. "My- My album was actually a huge hit, guys. 3rd best seller in the country that year, but I was already too far gone, and the people in charge knew that they couldn't make any more money off of me, so they scammed the money ratings and lied. My album did great, I made so much money, but... The drugs took over too soon, I guess you could say. My employers dropped my sorry butt as soon as they figured that out." I state sheepishly, my hand gliding through my clean hair. God, I loved that feeling. I would try and shower more every second or third day, but if I'm not over at a customer's house, then I usually live with Evan. I actually have my own room at his place, along with a shower and food and a bundle of clothes. I'm not street trash, but I might as well be. With Evan, my rent is paid through sexual actions with _him_. He's a disgusting pig and I can't stand him. He just has a huge house and wanted someone else in it for a short amount of time, and I just happened to be looking.

So, reason as to why my hair was full with grime and I probably smelled like death? I try to stay away from either of those places for as long as I can.

Tommy understands my situation, and gave me a small dresser in the staff room at the bar to put extra clothing in when I didn't want to go to Evan's. Tommy's even offered me his own shower and a hot meal at the price of nothing. He's an asshole at times, but his heart can be in the right place.

It's probably only because I give Oasis' Gay Bar more than half of its earnings. People love me, my dancing, singing and sexual actions. I'll admit, I'm amazing in bed.

I just wished it was for more than money and an easy fuck.

Sometimes I pretend that it means something, that I'm actually in love with the person. That helps the mood, and it's something that the other... ummm- escorts- have yet to learn. I can act. I know how to put myself into a character and into a pretend situation and make it seem real. That's probably the main reason I'm on high demand. Even when it's fake, I know how to make love, and not just let the sex turn into some random fuck.

It doesn't hurt the other person, and it only drags me further down into this dark hole I seem to be falling into. But I'm just a striper, pole dancer, drug abuser, fuck up, I don't matter.

"You mean they lied?" Logan gasps at the recent knowledge, forcing me away from my own terrorizing thoughts.

"They always lie, Logan. If it covers their butts, they'll do anything." I reply, speaking the sad truth of Hollywood. We're puppets for the industry.

We don't matter.

"Wow, well then, umm. Okay." Logan tries to brush it aside easily but seems to have no avail. "The next thing I want to know is, ummm, you know, what is, umm-"

Logan has never been good with this kind of topic.

"Coke, it's cocaine. I mean, Percocets, MDMA, shrooms, acid, and K are fine, but I guess if it's anything, it's cocaine." I give in, having a small sense that my addiction is what Logan's question was going to be about.

I'm not going to lie about it, I know I'm addicted. I can't go two whole days without doing something. But that doesn't mean I want to give it up anytime soon. In my line of work, and how my life is going, the high is the only 'Up' I'm ever given.

Logan sighs, falling backwards into his seat. "Well, at least it's not heroine or meth. But cocaine, okay... Wow."

"I think I should get going-" I attempt once again, getting up from my seat. But Carlos is on me in seconds, pulling me back down into my chair.

"No way, buddy. You're staying here."

"But- You guys, I-"

Logan quickly interrupts me, signalling for Carlos to sit down once again. "You're embarrassed," He says almost pompously. "You're trying to push us away so we don't have to watch what you're doing to yourself. Well, James, here's the thing. Even against your beliefs, we are your friends. And as your friends, we're going to stand by you through thick and thin, so don't you dare run out that door, or so help me god-"

Carlos jumps over the table and slams his hand against Logan's mouth, shutting the boy up. I have to laugh at this, as my friends are still the same, crazy antic type of guys that I knew and loved.

Carlos looks Logan in the eyes, and the two seem to be in the midst of a silent conversation that I am not a part of. Logan nods his head, and Carlos lets go of Logan's lips.

"Thanks," Logan says, putting his hand over Carlos', and the Latino just says "No problem."

I can feel my heart begin to beat just a little faster as a trickle of sweat drops from my forehead. The shaking has increased, along with a slight sense of nausea.

I need something.

No, no. Not right now. I can wait until tomorrow. When I get out. I'm not getting high with them around again. No! No! No!

"Guys, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not really feeling well. Maybe we can talk about it later, but I really should get going."

"Where do you live?" Logan asks me. I shrug, as I don't really have a definite housing situation set up.

"I usually stay with customers, or overnight at the bar. Most of the time I'm at Evan's, my dance partner, or sometimes on the street, or on a bench in the park if the police don't catch me. I don't really know."

"Well," Logan begins, resting his hand against his chin with pity written in his eyes. "You're living here for now on. I don't care what you say, but you're back in our lives, and don't you dare assume that you'll be able to disappear just like dust again. I can pick up your things from wherever, but I want you to live here. Especially with Camille gone now-" Logan bites his lip harshly as he squeezes his eyes shut.

It's still too soon after her death, and he's still suffering.

I wish I had at least gotten to say goodbye. I mean, she was my acting coach, my friend. I miss her.

"It'll be lonely in this apartment once Carlos and Kendall leave in a few weeks, I think having you here will be good. For both of us."

Carlos nods his head viciously and I'm on the brink of tears.

"B-but I can't pay for all of it." I whisper through a shaky breath.

Logan's eyes soften and he gets up from his seat, wrapping his arms around me.

"Don't worry about money, James. We love you, and we just want to know you're safe."

I shake my head against his chest.

I'm not safe. I'm never going to be safe. They can't watch me through that, it'll only make them suffer. Why are they doing this to me? Can't they tell I'm trying to get away for their own sakes? I don't want to put my burdens onto them!

This is too much. I can't handle it.

I can feel the warmth of Carlos' arms, wrapping around me and Logan as well.

"I love you, James." He says. And I don't know what it is about hearing Carlos saying that, but something in me breaks, and I completely fall apart. I collapse into their embrace, tears shedding at a horrible speed.

It takes a full hour of comforting words and soothing voices to calm me down. I am completely and utterly embarrassed by the entire fiasco I seemed to have created with my sobbing.

Carlos suggested that maybe we can just act normal around each other, as if I'm not suffering from an addiction. So, he sits me and Logan down on a leather couch, and turns on the T.V.

We all laugh at the comedy channel and make stupid jokes about the corny lines or the stupid laugh track, but it's so reminiscent to our teenage days that I feel as if I'm in a dream.

It feels good to pretend, just for a little bit.

But all too soon, a commercial appears for Alcoholic Anonymous. The tension rises and we all glance at each other with discomfort.

"I-I think we need to do something about Kendall," I speak up, forcing the building tension away with my sudden suggestion.

I watch as Logan nods, as Carlos quickly follows in suite.

"He has almost already drank everything I owned within the past week and a half. He starts early in the morning, and goes all day. He doesn't think we notice, but we do. Don't we Carlos?" Logan says, pointing towards the drawer where the momentarily abandoned alcohol lay.

"Yah, I don't like seeing him like that..."

The commercial comes and goes, but we no longer discuss Kendall's predicament. Tonight is about forgetting, having fun.

I'm twitching out and beginning to shake desperately from the cold I begin to feel. I can hear it's voice, calling my name.

I need it. This shaking is horrible. I can't keep a straight thought.

One second it's about self pity, then Kendall, and then how hot that guy looks in this music video that's playing on T.V.

I can feel myself rocking back and forth slightly, beginning to scratch at the scabbed skin on my arm in need and desperation.

I need something... Anything. Advil. Tylenol. T3's, Oxies. Best yet, coke. I'd take anything to just stop this horrible feeling I'm slowly gaining.

Logan's a doctor, maybe he has something hidden!

But Carlos' voice pipes up from distance, laughing and pointing at the blazing screen of the T.V. "Remember when you used to date her, dude? Ali Preston, couldn't believe it. Such a bitch. Those aren't real, are they?" Carlos says as he switches the channel from Mtv's top 20 music videos to a game of football.

In my slowly descending state, I glance upwards towards the stairs and see a sulking blond haired boy, watching us from afar. I know that he heard us talk about him. He has that self-pity, guilt and betrayal look within his eyes.

"I wonder if the rumours are true, if she really has a kid," Someone, I think Logan, says in the distance. It sounds so far away, blurring words falling to pieces within my ears. But he's only centimetres away from my shivering body.

But my mind is elsewhere.

Rolling his eyes, Kendall stumbles back into the confines of his room, seemingly awake from his drunken slumber at long last.

For some strange reason, I follow. I tell the guys that I'm tired and want to rest up a bit, and they leave me be. Walking shakily up the stairs and into Kendall's room, I fall onto the bed. Kendall lay awake, arms wide open for me to fall into. I wrap my own around his semi-muscular frame. I know it's the alcohol doing this to him. A few years back, we always comforted each other this way when we had a bad day, and it wasn't weird. But now, it's like Kendall can't be anywhere near me without freaking out.

So I accept the embrace and just go with the flow because I've missed this feeling way too much.

For a hockey player, he has more of a lithe body structure, more like a swimmer or soccer player. You'd think that with all of his exercise regimes and structured diets, he would be more bulked up. Nope, not Kendall. He's still rather scrawny. Beyond that, being here with Kendall feels right. Safe and secure. Something that I've longed for, it seems.

It's just friends comforting friends, because right now, we both need support from somebody who understands the burden of an addiction.

Even if one of us doesn't know he's addicted yet.


	7. Kiss Me

Hello! I said that I was going to update this weekend, and I am/did! Yay! Also, this week I made Hamlet, the Iliad, Emma and my newest/personel project for Fanfic. net my bitch. (I should never put 'my bitch' and those classic books in a sentence togetherever again... I feel ashamed now.) Aka, I got a lot done, YAY! ! ! ! !

Thank you to** Teddybear no1** (Errr - I believe I said so, but now I'm not sure anymore! I've probably written it in a later chapter that isn't up yet, whoops! But, as it isn't a secret, I made it so she died in a car crash. Hope that helps! And thank you so much for the review! I appreciate it so much!), **layra** (Soon, my friend. Soon! Unfortunently, not soon enough :p I'm trying to take my time, haha. But yes, that is coming up ;) Thank you for the review! I love it!), as well as everyone who has added this to their alert and/or favorites list! Thank you!

I am sorry for any errors, as usual! I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(Kendall's POV)**

I awake from my distressed state, still in my dirtied clothes from the night before, and with a hangover the size of Wisconsin. I glance at the clock on my watch that surrounds my wrist, noting the time.

6: 50 in the morning. In my world this means it's too early to function. Although, I quickly realize the unfortunate reality that there's no way in hell I'm going back to bed... Damn it.

Gazing at the ceiling, counting all the little cracks and bumps of the plaster, my thoughts role back to the one and only James, who happens to be asleep in my arms, as I am within his. Everything's gone to shit with him around. Everything went to shit when he left, which leaves me wondering: Is there such thing as a perfect middle? Why can't he be (or not be?) around and things can maybe not go to shit?

I can feel him trembling spastically against my chest, his cautious breathing falls without rhythm against the crook of my neck. He's shaking even worse than usual, and a cold, slick sweat shines over his body. His bangs are plastered against his forehead and a new observation approaches me. He has huge raccoon eyes, the dark circles prominent underneath the closed double eyelashes that are fluttering against his severely flushed cheek.

But for some odd reason, I find it perfectly acceptable to wake up to him. It just seems right for him to wake up and suffer along me, with us in each other's grasp. Okay, fine, I'm a little lonely and I like having him conscious around me... I think the alcohol must still be in my system.

We're facing each other, and I can feel his morning wood springing to life, brushing against my hip bone. He moans within his sleep at the contact and it's damn near the hottest thing I've ever seen. Without thinking, my hand travels down his shivering waist and pulls at the front of his jeans that he fell asleep in once again. I pop open the button and slide down the zipper erotically. Even in his hectic dreams, James can still feel the pleasure.

"Mmm, Ken-kendall." He whispers, hips gyrating forward and further into my hand, adding pressure against his hard-on. Hearing this only pleases me more.

He's having a wet dream, and I just happen to be involved.

Usually this sort of thing would sicken me until I threw up. But with James it's different. Everything with James is different.

My hand slips through the confine of his jeans and underwear, pulling down the cloth. His erection springs forward, and I quickly begin to pump the already leaking member.

James moans into the touch, and his eyes begin to flutter open. The grip he has around me tightens, pulling me closer to the heat of his body. I tease the tip gently with my thumb, rubbing harsh circles, which only causes James to gasp loudly.

"Ken-Kendall. Don't- don't stop!" He mutters out. His eyes, blood shot from the oncoming withdrawal he'll soon experience, are watching me with a sickening fascination. He thrusts his hips further into the heat of my hand as I continue jacking him off. He's loving it, and I have never heard such pleasurable moans from one little hand job in my entire life.

He really does put a porn star to shame.

His mouth is open wide, the noise level increasing while his hot and heavy breaths hit me right on. God, I could do this forever. He licks his lips lustfully, staring at me in need, which is only doing cruel things to my own bottom half.

My pace quickens as do his thrusts, and as soon as it began, it seems to be ending. I can feel him tremble in my arms, his nails clenching against my backside as his orgasm takes over. The hot liquid begins to paint stripes and flowing ribbons across my fingertips and hand.

"G-god, t-that's a good way to start a morning," He huffs out involuntarily. I think this was something he meant to only think, but he obviously has no control over his thoughts at the moment.

I align soft kisses against his neck, losing myself in the moment and uncaring to any consequences that I may feel later on.

I pull him into my arms and let my head collapse against the nape of his neck, inhaling his scent.

"I've missed you so much, Jamie." I whisper softly.

James shutters. "I've missed you too, Kendall."

Then, before I know what's happening, James' eyes open wide as he throws himself out of my arms and dashes towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. Even from here, I can hear that he makes it in time to empty the bile from his stomach into the porcelain thrown.

Sighing, I get myself out of bed. I grab myself clothes, as well as some clothes for James to wear so he can get out of that outfit once and for all. I lay the cloth on the unmade bed, and begin to strip, changing from my warm pajamas' for the day.

5 minutes pass, and James still has yet to return, but the violent retching has stopped... Well, this could either be a good or bad thing. I frightfully make my way to the bathroom, only to find James passed out on the cold tile floor, the nothingness from his stomach still in the toilet in the form of strings of a yellow tinge. I flush the liquid away, before grabbing James' violently shaking body into my arms.

I somehow manage to drag his small ass into my bedroom and back into bed and underneath the covers. You know, for a skinny as fuck drug addict, he sure does weigh a lot. I guess in actuality, I am okay with that. He needs as much weight as he can get. Still though, when you're half carrying, half dragging the man, I kind of almost wished he weighed a little less. It would have been so much easier on my muscles so early in the morning.

But, watching him shiver underneath the covers reminds me of a sickly child, like the ones at the hospital I used to visit while in Big Time Rush, or even as community service for the Minnesota Wild.

It's an awful sight to watch.

Suddenly an overwhelming need to help James flows through my body. I make a mad dash into Logan's bedroom on the first floor, almost tripping over three steps whilst doing so.

I barrel through the door and violently shake Logan awake.

"Logan! Logan!"

His eye lids flutter open trying to keep away the light from the opened door.

"Wha-what is it? He asks, dragging the sleep away from his eyes.

"He's going through withdrawal," I say as soon as I see his already dark eyes darken, when the he finally grasps what I said. When he looks at me in pure shock, I only nod my head, telling him the truth.

He, just as quickly as I did, jumps out of bed and up the stairs in seconds, his non-graceful feet making tremendous booming noises with each second step.

I remain in his bedroom, trying to figure out something that I could be helpful with.

... I remember last night, watching from above as Carlos and Logan held him while he sobbed. Why he was crying, I don't even know.

Maybe it was all too much to take?

But the guys handled it well, and eventually set him down and watched T.V just like the good old days.

And then something triggers in my memory.

When James was looking at me, didn't Carlos say '_Ali Preston. Remember when you used to date her? What a bitch_." Or something like that?

But then everything flows back to me.

Ali Preston, a god awful rich and snobby singer, was James' one and only long term girlfriend. They were friends for quite awhile, and they became official during the last tour, after her first stupid single became a hit. She stayed with him for 8 months, until we all lost touch.

She broke up with him, but that should have been around the time the drugs started, maybe?

I don't know, but maybe she knows something. She might have information about why he's doing this, or why he started.

She just might know something, and I'm not about to miss my chance to talk with her.

I can't believe I hadn't thought about this before!

But then again, I've been hanging out with James. My head isn't usually in the right place when I'm with James.

... And that other night. The way his arms were brought me from the road, saving me from that car. Oh God. Falling asleep in the same bed and waking up with him in my arms. It just felt right, like something I can't even explain.

It's like the waves in the water. It has to happen, and it does, but why? Why can't it the top be still, and the inner layer move around the liquidy contents? Why must water move and create those amazing images we all know and love?

Oh god, now I'm getting philosophical... or going insane, not sure which one I am yet.

I fell asleep, listening to him say 'Beau' and 'Preston'.

James. James knew Ali Preston before we left Big Time Rush. I always said she was a bad influence, but... she was still around when I left.

With the idea seeded and growing in my mind, I am able to find her house location in seconds (one of the guys on the team had an affair with her and gave me her address so I could pick him up un them morning. I was thrilled, needless to say...)

Maybe Ali Preston has answers, it gets me out of the house and away from the impending questions that I know will be laying on me thick when Carlos and Logan are done dealing with James.

Their disappointment is something I don't really want to deal with right now.

I guess I'm going to Ms. Preston's house... at 7 30 in the morning... Oh joy. I just hope little miss Spoiled Brat will be awake.

* * *

I drive up to her house, and enter through the gates, using the same lame excuse I used last time.

"My friend hooked up with this chick last night, and I'm here to pick him up."

It scares me half to death when it works and the exquisite, overdramatic black steel gates open without a creek.

I don't think I've mentioned the small fact that she's the biggest slut in Hollywood, have I? No? Well, now you know.

I put in a phone call since it is so early in the morning. Just so I wouldn't have to wait hours for the bitch to wake up. Pretty much, they're expecting me.

I just wanted to see if that lame excuse still worked.

At the front of the house, I park my car in her driveway behind one too many Porches of all sizes colours. Walking up to the large doorway, I ring the doorbell on the side.

Almost as soon as my fingers leave the bell, the large pristine door is opened and I'm shocked to see no one standing there. For a moment, I had actually believed that a machine or a ghost opened the door for me, that is until I heard a small and tiny voice from below say, "Who's you?"

My green eyes follow the direction of the voice, falling upon a small little boy with a full head of brown hair. He looks at me, confusion written in his hazel eyes.

"I- I... I'm Kendall Knight, and I'm here to see Ms. Preston?" I stutter towards the young child.

A voice appears from behind him, scowling the child. "Beau! What have I told you about answering the door?"

A women around my age enters the scene. Well, that definitely isn't Ali. This girl is too thin for wear, her hair is limp, and it looks like she hasn't slept in months. She grabs the child, Beau...

Beau, that's Beau.

"You's said its unswafe and bad for me to answer the dahwr." He replies to her, the little apologetic voice emitting from his tiny body.

The women sighs, and turns to me, a smile appearing on her face.

"Mr. Knight, correct? I'm Jessica, the nanny. Ms. Preston should be down shortly, I believe she is almost done with her daily bath." The women says kindly, pushing her long bangs away from her face.

I just smile and nod, entering the overly large mansion.

"Jezz, I wants food." Beau shouts out unabashedly. I can hear his stomach growling from where I stand, and Jessica begins to laugh.

"Alright," She begins, putting him down upon the floor.

"What would you like?"

"Carwots! With Ketchup!"

The woman once again laughs, shaking her head.

"I'll never understand your love for dipping carrots into ketchup." She mumbled to herself.

She turns to me abruptly, no emotion written on her tiring features. "I believe Mrs. Preston's son is hungry, so if it isn't rude, I should go feed the child. He can cause quite the temper tantrum when he's hungry."

"Alright, well it was nice meeting you Jessica," My head turns down to the small boy. I give him an awkward wave and he just glances at me with confusion.

He shakes his head, taking Jessica's hand into his own chubby one and practically drags her into the kitchen with his short, stubby legs covered with his jean overalls. I always felt bad for children with nannies, it's like they never got the proper parental figure. But then my mind slowly drags me back to the entire reason I'm here.

Why was James talking about that small boy while he slept? Not going to lie, terrible thoughts entered my mind, but I shook them away immediately. James loves kids, and he's great with them (Logan always said it was because their brains were functioning at the same rate. Aka, James had the brain of a kid and never matured...) but he isn't a child... lover. But still, it's creepy.

And, as if on cue, a beautiful curvaceous blond walks down the large spiralled steps towards me.

Her blond locks are held into tight, large curls that flow almost to her mid-waist.

She is wearing stilettos and looks like she's about to go out. She has on a black, form fitting cocktail dress, and she's playing around with an earring on her left side.

"Ahhh, Kendall Knight, what can I honour this visit to?" She says when she places herself in front of me. There is an almost evil smirk coming from the woman.

Truth be told, I always believed that she was just a rich snob who had everything handed to her. She never had to work as hard as we did for a top 10 hit. All she did was shake around her fake D-sized breasts on T.V. while saying 'Ohhh, baby I want chu' to a terrible tune.

That was four years ago, and this 24/25 year old woman is still on top.

"I- I..." My voice begins to waver and Ali's eyes narrow from her confusion. Clearing my throat, I begin to look into the exotic deep blue, and the way her golden hair curls perfectly around her rounded, emphasized face (emphasized by a shit ton of expensive make up, of course).

"I'm here because my friend, James Diamond, was talking in his sleep and he said your name... and Beau's name, and you two were together... and I just had questions..." I answer sheepishly.

"Oh, is that all?" She asks, licking her pure red lips and placing a hand mockingly on her hip.

Instead of coming back with a cruel retort, my eyes dart every which way, and fall towards the floor. I nod my head to finally answer her question.

"So, want to know about James, I'm guessing?"

Again, I'm just suddenly dazzled by her shimmering red stilettos that she wears over the expensive flooring, and that aren't anywhere near her eyes.

"Well, first things first, he was my dealer before I got into the big leagues." She says with a wide smirk. The unnatural white sparkle is thrown at me as if they were the devil's spawn. No one can ever begin to fathom how much I hate this chick. She just thinks she all that.

"He gave me safer drugs, I guess. I mean, no drugs are safe drugs, but come on. James? Giving me drugs that would put me into the hospital? Haha, ya right!" She continues rambling on.

But something in my head isn't settling right. But- James... He. Wait a minute. She became big before_ Big_ Time Rush broke up. And they knew each other before hand. Then- that would mean-

"Just figured it out huh. I thought you would have realized that when I said dealer and big leagues. Seemed to take you longer, though. Maybe I give you too much credit." She winks one of her fake eyelashed eyes at me.

She is just so fucking fake!

Finally, when I somehow found my voice, I spoke. "He was your dealer before our last tour." The broken tone inside my own voice is shattering, even too me. I have just come to the realization; James was into drugs whilst we were still friends, before we broke apart.

James lied to us, and kept his little secret hidden.

... I thought we were best friends who told each other everything!

"Oh yeah. Best one in town, too. He was too nice, though. Gave everyone their appropriate amount. Never too little, sometimes too much. He was great. And I knew it was always safe from him, I never had to worry a whole bunch. I know he didn't cook, but man, he had some serious connections." She continues with that horrible, high pitched, strenuous laugh.

"Maybe I was in over my head. Maybe, maybe not. There were a few guys who did land in the hospital because they used some of James' bad stuff, but I never did. Maybe it was because I really liked him, or it was because we were having sex, or maybe it was because I was having his baby that I felt safe."

My eyes finally lift from her red stilettos and stare incredulously into her eyes. "What?" I stutter out, the tone more of an accusation than anything.

"Oh, just caught onto that one too, huh, Mr. Knight? Wow, I really do give you too much credit."

I just continue my meddling gaze, telling her to hurry the fuck up and talk.

She better not be lying, but something deep inside told me that she wasn't.

"Did you happen to realize that Beau is an exact copy of him? The double eyelashes, the tanned skin tone, the brunette hair. His nose and cheek bones? There is nothing of me in there. I guess those little features just slipped right past you too. Huh, poor boy..." She mocks cruelly. She knows exactly how to get to me.

"Shut up." He say through the brink of my teeth.

"I'd rather not. You're cute when you're all hot and bothered."

"I'm not hot and bothered, I'm fuckin' pissed. How dare you accuse _my_ friend of getting _you_ pregnant! You probably did it yourself, trying to get a scandal to hit it into the big leagues before that damn song of yours came out. You probably forgot to take a pill on purpose, just for that reasoning you bitch! It's probably not even his!"

Her blue eyes turn a vicious ice blue in an instant as her toned skin becomes red.

"Accuse him? I'm not accusing him of anything! The condom fucking broke and I wasn't even on birth control! Birth control, for one, makes you carry water weight, which makes you look bigger then you actually are. And two, there's evidence right there in the kitchen. And I didn't even want the kid! James did!"

Just as her skin became red so quickly, the tension I feel heightens at her chosen words. How dare she. Who the fuck does she think she is!

"Well, why didn't you just get an abortion if you didn't want him, huh?"

The women bit her lip harshly, looking away from my eyes.

"It was too late. I didn't realize it until it was too late." She admits, none to enthusiastically.

My eyebrows shot up. "How do you just not know if you're pregnant?" I broke out, this girl pissing me off more and more.

"You know, when you're 21, not having your period for months on end and throwing up after every meal, you sometimes miss the normal signs!" She screams at me. Wow. She must be on her period _now_ because that was quite the scream.

It was a known fact that Ali Preston was a used-to-be bulimic. She went to years of therapy, and from what I hear on T.V, she got passed her young-life crisis.

I, for one, think it was all a scam to get her more fans. And it fucking worked, too.

"What about adoption?" I ask suddenly.

"Again, too late. By the time I actually started looking, it would have taken years to put Beau into a good home." She sighed dramatically, with an eye roll that I swear takes 5 minutes to complete. "I never wanted the kid in the first place."

"Do you ever tell Beau that?"

Her large blue eyes turned and glared towards me, killing me softly.

Really, if looks could kill, I'd be dead about now. Probably for the second or third time this morning from her glaring alone.

"As much as I didn't want the kid, I would never say that to him. Isn't that what James' Mom used to say to him? And look how he ended up!" She sneered at me.

Crossing her arms and clearly pissed out with my presence, she continues to rage at me. "Why are you here, huh? What is it that you want to hear? How I met James? Why I know him? Is that it, huh?"

I merely nod my head, slowly taking a few steps back. This is one scary bitch. This is definitely the Ali Preston that everyone else in the world never gets to see.

"You know, he didn't tell you guys a lot. He tried to protect you from knowing too much about his life. He never said it, but I think he was scared you guys would abandon him if you ever 'found out'. He hid his secrets well." She almost smirks, her pretentious little wink bothering me into oblivion.

"He told me everything!" I scream protectively. And now she's lying to me? Straight to my face? Really?

Or am I just lying to myself, hoping that the lie is actually the truth?

"Oh right!" She laughs viciously for the millionth time. "Did he tell you about the first time he used? That is was a full _year _before Big Time Rush broke up? Did he tell you why he did it? Did he ever talk about how his mom treated him, or how she'd belittle him over the phone? Did he tell you about _our_ one night stand, that led to this entire mess? Or about how he knew I was using him to get fame, and that we were never in an actual relationship, and that it was all for show?"

When she sees the confusion in my eyes, not understanding anything she just said (other than the relationship. Ha! I fucking knew it!), the woman takes a step back, obviously pleased with herself.

"He told you shit. And when he went downhill after his album, I left his sorry ass, no matter how rich he became. We were never together. I'll admit, I just used him to get drugs safely and for the obvious fame, but when he started taking the hardcore shit like cocaine daily, I walked away. He knows about Beau, and he knows that I won't let him see his own kid until he gets clean. I may have not wanted the kid, but I have him. I'm not about to ruin that child's life."

Sighing yet again, Ali glances around looking for a clock.

"Listen, you're a nice guy, Knight. Don't let James drag you down with him. He's too far gone to be brought back. Just let him go, he's not going to do anything useful anyways."

With that, she walks gracefully, swaying her hips seductively as she opened the door.

"Have a good day, Mr. Knight. If James decides that he wants you to check up on his son again, just give me a call. I don't mind, as long as _he_ doesn't come along."

* * *

The first thing I notice when I get home is destruction.

Logan sits on the couch, a raw steak over his bruised eye. Carlos is dapping a tiny, moist cloth against a cut on Logan's cheek. A chair has turned over and a blanket lay strewn across the floor.

Okay, so it's not destruction or chaos, but it is pretty unclean for Logan's standards.

"What happened?" I ask immediately, running to Logan's side and grabbing his face with my hands, observing the large black eye.

"J-James," Logan tries to say, but it ends with a violent cough. The cut Carlos was just cleaning appears to be swelling his right cheek, with his left eye being bruised.

"James did this?" I screech seethingly. My mind begins to race as jump up from my seat on the couch and I trot back and forth across the living room.

"That asshole! We offer him a place to stay-"

"Kendall" Carlos shouts, but I barely register it.

"Give him food to eat, a bed to sleep in-"

"Kendall!"

"And put clothes on his back, and this is how he rewards us? That assho-"

"Kendall!" Carlos practically screams, hopping upwards in a Carlos-like manner, grabbing onto my tensing shoulders and forcing me to sit down beside Logan. "It isn't what you think alright?" He admits uncomfortably.

Glancing between the wide eyes of my friends, and I let out a large exhale of air, falling backwards into the cushions of the couch. "Then please explain it to me." I offer, pure rage flying through my bones.

Carlos glances once more at Logan. He takes a seat on the round table in front of us, and begins trying to think of the proper words to explain the past situation.

"Okay, well, after you left, Logan woke me up and we brought James down here. He was throwing up, and shaking and begging for us to let him go, just so he could go buy something to stop he withdrawal. He could barely walk, and we weren't letting him out of our sight. Logan was the one who noticed that he had a high fever, so after a few hours of watching him shake, we decided that we should give him Gravol and bring him to your guys' room, where he'll be staying by the way. Logan doesn't have any other room in the house, and we don't trust him to sleep on the couch down here alone."

My eyes widen drastically. "You what!" I scream at both of my friends. "James is going to be sleeping with me in my room? No fucking way! That bed is tiny enough as it is!"

"So it's the bed that's the problem, and not James?" Logan asks sheepishly.

"No, James is the main problem, the bed is only a quarter of it." I admit, the lie radiating from my tongue like fossil fuel from an engine. "I don't want to share a bed with some sweaty, withdrawling drug addict!"

"Withdrawling isn't even a word, Kendall. And he's your friend." Logan states pompously.

"Wh-whatever!"

Logan rolls his eyes with a sigh, and puts down the raw meat next to Carlos, who has a napkin ready for it. The raven haired genius turns to me, glancing into my eyes thoughtfully.

"Anyways, back to what happened. We were trying to get him to your room. I was behind him and Carlos was in front. But he was too tired, and I'm not the strongest person. When we were right next to the bar in front of the kitchen, he collapsed and passed out, and I had been the one to catch him. But, like I said. I'm kind of slightly weak. I lost balance and my head smashed against the side of the bar, and then I turned in mid air to the other side, the side with this cut, fell against the stool. But James was fine. When he woke up he thought he attacked us and ran off. He was too fast for us to catch."

"And the blanket?" I ask hurriedly, pointing the soft material abandoned on the floor.

"That's what we put him under when he went unconscious. When he dashed out of the apartment it was still on, and I guess that's just the place it fell from his body... But, I don't know where he is, Kendall."

Sighing, and slipping a hand through my blond locks, I turn to Carlos.

"Take care of him, Carlos. I'm going to find James." And without another peep from either of my friends, I run out of the apartment, before either of them remember the reason as to why James was here last night anyways.

He brought me back in my intoxicated state.

Fuck.

...And now thinking about it, where is my usual 3 o'clock in the afternoon beer I always look forward to?

* * *

I bought a few beer a couple of blocks away from Logan's house, and am now drinking the fuzzy contents while walking through the L.A County Arboretum park. A short whiles drive away from Logan's house.

Openly drinking isn't exactly allowed, so I've put one of the beer in an apple juice container. And if anyone asks me what it is, I'll say apple juice mixed with sprite. A beautiful trick I learned since playing for the Wild. No one will question a damn thing.

Walking down the miserable parkway, I watch as cute and affectionate couples pass me, or families playing with their kids, or even brothers and sisters walk together.

It's annoying as hell to be alone sometimes.

I turn my head, and I notice a familiar figure on a park bench underneath of an overbearing, towering trees with falling branches and leaves, shading and protecting of his body from the vicious sunlight. The bench sits beside the luscious greens of Baldwin Lake.

Sighing, I take another gulp of alcohol, and trot over to him, sitting beside my oldest friend.

He doesn't even notice that I'm here. So, after realizing that my beer is completely gone, I grab another from a backpack that sits over my shoulders, beginning to pour the fizzy contents back into the bottle.

"So, you have a kid, huh?" I say. It's not a statement, there's no vicious tone like usual. It's just like bringing up a new, more light-hearted conversation when all else around you is falling apart.

Except nothing around us is falling apart. We just are.

James blinks a couple of times before he sets his head into his hands. "How did you figure that one out?" He asks me sounding horrible, exhausted and, scarily enough, as if he's about to cry.

"You talk in your sleep, James. It wasn't that hard to figure out after you said 'Preston'. I went to her house today, and we had a little chat." I admit, feigning boredom as I sit back against the uncomfortable wooden bench.

"So you met Beau? He's cute, isn't he?"

"He's a miniature James Diamond. Of course you think he's cute."

James laughs at that, rubbing his hand over his eyes as if to waken himself up.

I then shrug after he just continues to giggle. "But, Beau huh? Couldn't have chosen a better name?"

James once again laughs, and it's like we're best friends back in Minnesota again, playing around and mocking each other all in the name of good fun.

"I wasn't even there for the birth, I had nothing to do with his name. If I did, I would have picked something more manly, and something that wouldn't get him picked on during school. And, not to mention, isn't Beau a dog's name? Or like 'Pretty' or something in French? Can you imagine if he went to France? Everyone would be saying 'Oh, that's a pretty portrait, Pretty.' in their native tongue. I just- no. That's an awful name."

Now it's my turn to laugh at what he just said, still in attempt to lighten the mood. "Could you imagine if he turns out to be, like, CEO of the world or something? His secretary would have to be like 'Mr. Beau Preston, you have a call on line one. Beau, Sir, you have a call on line one.' That's just, yeah. He's going to be tough when he's older, after all the harassment he's going to get during school and from his teachers... Remember how Mr. Garfield, our gym teacher in Grade 7, always made fun of you for your last name?"

"Oh god!" James explains, throwing his hands into the air dramatically. "-He was such a dick! 'Diamond, isn't that a jewel? A girly item? A pet name? What are you, Diamond. A girl or a pet?' Or all those times he said 'Stop running like a pathetic little diamond, Diamond. Start running like a rock, a stone, a boulder. A man!' That one never made any sense to me." James laughs.

"But I always found it funny," James admits, running a hand through his brown hair as I notice a ray falls between the branches of the tree over our heads, falling and creating just a streak of light against his head. "-Because a Diamond is just a piece of charcoal that handled stress extremely well."

"... That's deep, man."

"I read it on a brochure somewhere," James admits with pitiful laugh.

I turn towards my friend on the bench on this beautiful mid day afternoon. He's less pale then before, and the raccoon eyes have long since disappeared. He's still so painfully thin, his eyes are constantly blood-shot, and he's itching his skin in irritation.

Finally, I find the courage to speak up and say, "You took something didn't you?"

James bites his lips as his smile turns into a frown, unhappy with the turn of events that I created. He nods his head, and my heart drops a little more.

"You have a kid, James. Don't you want to get better, for him?"

James nods, but I can tell that he doesn't have a clue of how to change. If he is on High demand at the Bar, then he'll continue doing drugs (my guess anyways), and he's too far into the business to get out.

I hear James exhale beside me, bringing out a tiny, tiny plastic bag filled with white powder from the back pocket of my jeans that I just noticed he's wearing. Putting his hands over his lips in defeat, he says, "How did we end up like this Kendall?"

I shrug, because four long years is what has led us to this. This lifestyle.

Fine. I'll admit it. I drink a lot. I still don't believe I'm addicted, but I know I depend on it.

... There's a difference between addiction and dependency... isn't there?

Shit, there really isn't, is there...

_Damn it!_

"I have to get going, Kendall. It's 4, and I promised Tommy that I'd take a double shift since I missed my last one." He gets up from his seat on the bench, walking in front of me.

I nod, knowing that it'd be hard to get him away from that job. But I also grab his hand, forcing him to stop walking away from me as he passes.

"Okay, what time will you be off at? I can pick you up."

"It's going to be really early, Kendall. I don't want you to wait up for me."

"It's fine James. What time?"

"... Probably 4 am, I'm guessing?"

"Great, I'll see you at 4, James."

James smiles sweetly, and without another word he bends down, slamming his lips against my own. I freeze, completely still as James breaths in, his tongue licking over my bottom lips. I moan at the sensation and the alcohol takes over. I do something insane.

I kiss back, loving every second of it.

James grins and pulls away, a small 'pop' echoes between the small distance as he separates our lips.

"You're a good guy, Knight. I just wish you weren't so embarrassed to admit who you truly are. But I understand, with your parents and all."

It's so completely sudden and insane that I'm sitting here in shock, unsure of how to handle all of this. His hands are against my chest, fisting the cloth as my mouth falls open like a damn fish out of water.

"Your parents are cool, Kendall. They're not like your Grandparents, so I'm sure they would understand. They love you, and will always love you. I even know that."

He bends down once more, pecking my lips.

I love the feeling of his hot breath against my skin. It's scarily arousing. We break apart, and I stare at him through his dilated, dark green eyes. "You don't know them like I do."

"Are you sure? Maybe I just don't know them the way you _think_ you do."

"That makes no sense, dude."

"And neither do you, Knight. Neither do you."

Another peck to the lips, and he's gone, off to another night of dancing, stripping and pleasuring his customers.

I'm going to find a way to stop this. I will.

I mean, I have to. I'm the Leader, right?

* * *

Chhappter doone.

Is it just me, or did this go by a little fast? The transitions, especially for Kendall's character/problems, aren't entirely working out for me anymore. He used to be the easiest to write in this fic! Gah, Kendall, you're giving my problems :p

Ps, did anyone guess that James would have a kid? I suck at keeping secrets! I was hoping that James would make an appearance by chapter 5, and that Beau would come in (with a few more clues, rather than just being tossed your way, haha, sorry! I tried!) by chapter 8/9, maybe 10. But, I just can't do it! Twists/turns are the hardest things for me, lol! I can't keep anything hidden :)

Review? :D


	8. All I Want

COmpletely bizarra and random update, I know! But Oh... Myy... God... I was hoping to have this up so much sooner, I am so sorry for anyone who is actually liking this story! I really don't have an excuse. Ya, school has been hectic, but I do have some free time. I just usually spend it doing nothing or napping or going on Tumblr or reading other AMAZING stories. ALTHOUGH, I have been working alot on another story that will hopefully be up soon! I'm close to finishing this one actually, even though on FF. net we are far far away from the end! It's exciting though! Yay!

Thank you to **Layra** (Thank you for the review! Here's the next chapter and hope you enjoy it!), **sonovabitchwinchester** (haha, yayyyy, Im so happy you're liking it! ! ! haha, and i'm glad you figured out it was James' kid, I'm proud of you too! And hmm... We'll see what happens with the Ali/James/Kendall situation in due time ) teehee, Thank you so much for the review(s)! I appreciate it so much! :D ), **Just Fetching** (okay, thats good to hear! Ya, it's going fast and it's annoying me. I suck with slow paced things :p Aand yes, Kendall is a mess, but his life does get better! There is a light at the end of his tunnel, haha. :) Thank you so much for the review! Love to hear that you're liking it!), **LoveSparkle** (The Kames is coming along nicely? ! OMG! That makes me wayy to happy, haha :p And ya, Carlos and Logan really close, which I find adorable! Thank you for the review! I love reading these things so thaaank you!)

I'm sorry for any grammatical errors, I try my best as usual! Hope you enjoy it! I will say this - It is a Cargan chapter (finally! I was excited to write something not Kames/Jagan for once :p Aka, not involving James, haha). Enjoy? !

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(Logan's POV)**

"Where do you think either of them went?" I ask Carlos after Kendall quickly runs out of the apartment. What happened to him? Where is our Leader when we need him most? Actually, where's our best friend from Minnesota years ago? Strong, perceptive, positive, always looking for fun. I miss him more than I miss the self-proclaimed Leader during our Big Time Rush days who just fixed all of our problems. I just miss the days when all we did was have fun. I mean, bullies and homework and after school activities were some sort of an issue for all of us, like most kids, but other than that, our before-the-band days were all fun and filled with laughter. Live life to the fullest, you know?

What happened to that?

"I don't know. Hopefully wherever he is, he'll find James." Carlos turns to me suddenly, his hand rubbing against my knee cap. "He seems to know where James might've gone, unlike us."

"I'm worried about them, Carlos."

Carlos nods his head before glancing at me. I have to admit that I almost lost my breath at the sight. His eyes just portray so much fear and hope all at the same time, it's admirable. He's pouting his lip, looking at me like he's a lost puppy.

It's sad. Carlos has always had that effect on me.

"I'm sure they're fine,_ Logiebear_." He says playfully, trying to ease the mood of the atmosphere by bringing up my most hated childhood nickname.

"Fuck off," I say with a slap to his knee. Carlos laughs, his large brown eyes still staring straight into my being. Not going to lie, it's a little creepy. He reads me like an open book.

"How about we get out. I think we just need to have fun for a while, and not worry about those two... You know, just for a little while. It'll be like a refresher! A nap! A new start! A fresh-"

I slam my hand against Carlos' consistently moving mouth. "Alright-" I say playfully, "What do you want to do?" By the look in his eyes, I know he already has his answer.

"Why not drive down to the beach? I know a really good Ice Cream place that just opened!"

And before I can say anything, Carlos wraps his hands around my wrists, dragging me out of my apartment, not even looking back to lock the door. But, hey, he's right. Things have been so... drama induced lately that we need a small break, and just need to let go and have fun. If only for a little while.

There's no one better in the world to do that then our little innocent Carlitos.

* * *

"Do you like it, Logie? They even make the waffle cones here!" Carlos asks me with such a child like fascination as he latches onto my hand and drags me into an abandoned cubicle at the corner of the large ice cream bar... shop... place. What the hell do you call a place that sells ice cream? Actually though, do they have a name? Me and Camille used to fight over this, as pathetic as it sounds.

Okay, but coming back into reality, this place is huge. Seriously. But it's also within a tight alleyway, tucked away from everything else mainstream. How Carlos found it in the first place is beyond me.

Just what was he doing in the alley in the first place? ... Then again, do I really want to know? No, probably not.

"Ya, Carlitos. It's really good." I say, licking the tip of my overly large abundance of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream. God, it's so good. I haven't had anything that tasted this good for... well, probably since my wedding.

I've been too busy with my schooling and my internship at the hospital, and Camille can't cook to save her life.

Couldn't... Couldn't cook to save her life.

She's gone now. Passed.

Fuck.

Please, trust me when I say that I've already suffered through the Denial, Anger, Bargaining stages of the Kübler-Ross model. Right now, I have diagnosed that I am currently fighting the Depression/Acceptance stage. I just have to accept it. Which, I find to be the most difficult thing to ever be possibly done.

You know, I kind of think that death is a funny thing. It's everywhere and happens all the time. Every 3 seconds to be exact. I see it much too often at the hospital, and pity all of the family and friends I ever have to have 'The Talk' too.

When you're little, you don't understand it. When you're older, you wish you didn't, only because to fully understand means to have lived through a death of a loved one. And nobody wants someone else to die. It's a horrible feeling to have.

It's everywhere. In the movies, in books, on T.V., on the news, in any type of war, at my hospital, in reality. Everyone takes it so gradually too, without any care what so ever. I know that's how it was with Camille.

'In other news, 21 year old Donna Bauer committed suicide today, we give our condolence to the family in grief-'

'A homicide has been committed within the small town of-'

'Unfortunately, the car crash was fatal. Due to the slippery ice, 3 year old Claire Robinson has died today-'

"Well-known Theatrical actress Camille Robert-Mitchell died. Car crash. Fatal."

People will always say 'Oh, how sad,' and turn the channel or flip the page of the newspaper without any other thoughts.

That was somebody's daughter, son, best friend, nephew, cousin, lover, etc. I always think, 'What? How? Why was the Mother going home in the storm? What was so important that she couldn't have waited? What was going through his mind as he committed the homicide? Did she leave behind a child?'. Unless you know the person personally, you don't usually give much of a second thought.

Why do we do this, as human beings, why? Shouldn't we care more? We're humans. We're compassionate. We're not savage animals. We have feelings so shouldn't we care?

The sad truth is no. And we never will.

"You're doing it again." Carlos warns eerily, already biting the cone of his already done ice cream.

I cock an eyebrow, confused at what he means.

"You're spacing out, thinking depressing thoughts. Today's a fun day, Logie. Let's have fun and try not to worry, just for a couple of hours, alright?"

"I'm sorry, Carlos. It's just hard."

"I know it is. But we're just going to take this one step at a time. I've got you, so don't be afraid to let yourself go. Live a little." He speaks with that large, happy smile of his. I notice the small smudge of chocolate ice cream against the corner of his lip, and he seems to notice it then, too, for he begins licking it away cutely.

But no matter how awesome Carlos can be, the terrible thoughts just keep coming at me, even as I lucratively moan into my ice cream from the amazing taste. I know it's causing Carlos to unconsciously stare at me with hidden want, which is kind of really hot right now... But still, the voices, the thoughts keep tumbling towards me. They won't stop.

I remember when we were younger, around the age of 7. Kendall's Dad had been a part of a car crash. He broke almost every major limb in his body, and was stuck in a coma for four days. I remember that the doctor's told Kendall to say goodbye, because there was such a small chance his Dad was going to make it. We all held him as he cried, trying to overcome the obstacle that none of us understood.

Death.

We all thought his Dad was going to die, but he didn't. And ever since then, Kendall has been adamant about keep his Dad in his life, and never letting him go-

"Logan!"

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim, the ice cream now melting and running down my fingertips. There's a trash can beside me, so I end up throwing the ice cream into it, since it was completely melted anyway. I notice the sticky contents over my fingers, and remember that Carlos forced us away from the apartment so quickly, I didn't even grab my small package of tissues. Dammit! See, this is why I like to prepared. Preparation is always a good thing! Now, I have to use one of those dirty, dingy, disgusting recycled napkins from the restaurant.

"Aww, shit-" I whisper hoarsely, letting my thoughts run over just how long I had been day dreaming for, not my lack of preparation.

"Hey, hey. It's alright. Let me." Carlos offers, taking my sticky hand away from a napkin that I just grabbed hold of.

He slowly and, kill me now for saying this, but erotically lifts my finger tips towards his mouth, beginning to lick away the remains of the melted ice cream with such a confidence that I have never seen before in the man in front of me.

I stare, wide eyed. Because god, Carlos is licking my finger tips, and he's been there and he's held me, and I've loved every moment of it.

A memory of a few weeks prior flashes within my memory. A vision of me and Camille yelling at each other.

Truthfully, we were on one of our 'On-Again- But-Not-Off-Again-Since-We're-Married' type of deals during this specific fight.

I had just finished a three hour conversation with Carlos, who was explaining to me how he beat out everyone in the Hotdog Eating Contest and was oh-so proud of himself, when Camille decided to go through one of her 'moods'.

* * *

"_Logan! I told you to do the dishes by the time I get back, why aren't they done yet? We have to have some sort of plate to put our dinner onto!"_

_Logan sighed with malcontent. He had just finished having a wonderful conversation with his buddy who was all the way across the country, only to get yelled at by his wife. So he forgot to do the dishes. _

_Sue him._

"_Carlos was on the phone. I couldn't just put it down!" Was Logan's sorry excuse, quickly trying calm his wife down by running to the kitchen and cleaning the dishes within the cold water._

_He watched as Camille ran a hand through her soft curly hair._

"_It's not the dishes that I'm mad at Logan. It's you! It's always Carlos this, Carlos that! You always have to finish phone calls, messages, or even finish reading the newspaper of Daytona Bay online, just to see if Carlos is in it. I'm always put on the back burner. It's like I'm not even important anymore. Everything is Carlos, can't you understand where I'm coming from? I mean, you are a doctor! You're supposed to be smart!"_

_Logan rolled his eyes, slamming a plate onto the counter hard._

"_Well what about you? Everything you ever do is revolved around your job. You're always going to a new audition, or learning new lines, or coming home late from practice. What else am I supposed to do?"_

_Camille bit her lip, crossing her arms with ferocity. "Don't you dare turn this around on me, Logan Mitchell. Can't you see that this is an obsession? I'm the one you're married to, not Carlos. So please start listening to me and doing what I ask! And I've only come home late from practice once, so you can't even shove that one in my face."_

_Logan's phone instantly vibrated on the counter. Fearing that it was the hospital as he was On-Call, Logan instantly looked at the message. _

_**Carlitos: Dudee! Frgot 2 ask. Remembr that Musical you brot me 2? Les Miz somthin? Whts the song tht Epinine sung agin? Thxx! Call me bck ASAP!**_

_Logan, reading the message beside the abandoned plate, began to giggle softly at the written words. Carlos had a habit of shortening everything, and while it annoyed Logan to no end, he allowed it, just because it brought back that sense of innocence that he missed since the Latino left his side._

_He barely even noticed how Camille sauntered up to him angrily. He only realized she was by his side when she grabbed his cell phone and threw it to the other side of the room._

_It was a miracle it hadn't broken when it landed on the floor next to the window._

"_This is what I mean, Logan! As soon as he does anything slightly interesting, you're there, and I'm left in the dust. Sometimes I wonder whether or not it's me you love." Her voice broke into a tiny whisper as she spoke what was truly on her mind. _

_Grabbing her purse from the kitchen table, where it lay discarded when she had entered the room in an angry rage, she opened the door, leaving Logan's side._

"_I wonder why we're married Logan. It's obvious, we're not in love any more. Teenage angst has left us, and reality has settled in, and neither of us are handling it well. Maybe we're just leaning on each other more for support, and thought it to be love. We can be idiots sometimes."_

"_Wha- You can't use that line on me, it's from your script! And what is that supposed to mean between us anyways?" Logan shrieked suddenly, letting the images of Carlos' text and his phone shatter from his mind, only to be replaced by Camille's slow and dying words._

"_Script or no script, it means what it means, Logan. Maybe what we thought was love, wasn't. We were just mislead, and now neither of us are happy. I think we just need sometime apart, let us think this over..."_

"_Camille- I-"_

"_Stop, Logan. I know you're not in love with me. You haven't been for months. Years, even. It's alright, I've already gone through the burden of accepting it. Now it's your turn... Have fun talking to Carlos to try and analyze what I mean. Just a hint, it's right under your nose."_

_And with that, an almost crying Camille slammed the door, her car keys ringing in Logan's ears like a haunting church bell. She entered the elevator, removing herself from Logan's life completely, even if she did so on accident._

* * *

As I remember that scene in my head, playing over and over like a movie, I remember how afterwards I did phone Carlos, and we did try to diagnose what she meant.

But she was right, it was right under my nose. It had been in front of me the entire time.

My heart starts beating a little more faster, a sweat drop begins to fall down the back of my neck.

Carlos is still licking my already clean fingers, and I'm about to burst in my seat.

Tears spring to my eyes, realizing that pain I must have put Camille through. Women really are more intuitive then men, because I think she realized years before me.

She probably realized it back in the Palm Woods. That would explain her hesitation to become my girlfriend, my fiancé, my wife. It would explain our On-Again-Off-Again relationships.

Because she knew deep down that I would end up hurting her, because she somehow found out that I had been in love with Carlos longer and harder then I had been in love with Camille.

Camille was the water surface of my love and Carlos was the ocean.

And I was the one drowning in the bottom's depths.

* * *

We make it back to the apartment, and I can still feel my heart and brain on the edge of sanity. How could I do that Camille? Why am I still having this feelings so close after her death? I am a horrible human being who doesn't even know how to process the feelings I'm having right now.

First off, I'm practically cheating on my dead wife of a few weeks by having feelings for someone else... Someone else who is a man, nonetheless.

Kendall's going down the path of self-destruction by drinking so much. He doesn't think he's drinking too much, but when you wake up and your breakfast, lunch, snacks and dinner involve alcohol, you've got a problem! I can only imagine how bad his liver is.

And then there's James.

And that problem right there is self explanatory, so I don't feel the need to explain in immensely.

And then there's Carlos, the one who's trying to stabilize all of our hectic lives, trying to bring that fun, joy and laughter we all miss from Minnesota. Right now he's my rock more than anything, and I can't imagine him leaving my side when he goes back to Daytona Bay in the next couple of weeks.

More tears drip down my face as the world seems to fall onto my shoulders.

There is just too much to handle.

And what if what Camille said is true? That we were lonely or got our feelings mixed up for love, when all we had was a strong friendship? What if I'm doing the same for Carlos?

Oh god, it's the truth isn't it? I'm doomed for a life of no love and strong friendships that will never last or go anywhere!

A strong and calloused hand cups my swollen cheek, and when I look into the eyes, that are looking at the atrocity that is my face, all I can see is kindness, warmth, and love.

It doesn't matter to him how I looked or felt, as long as I'm alright, he's alright.

That's how Carlos always functioned, for any of us.

"What's wrong?" He asks, worry in his tone.

"I'm just worried about Kendall." I lie, yet I point to the clock that screams at me in red blocked letters that it's 5:20 pm.

"It's dinner time and he still isn't back yet. The last time this ha-happened, she never came back. Camille never came back." I am now sobbing, since the lie seemed to be overtaken by a truthful and painful memory.

Karma. It can be a bitch.

Carlos drags my hacking body over to the couch, and pulls me onto his lap protectively. "It's going to be okay, Logan." My head falls into the crook of his neck, his musky scent filling my nose. I can feel his arm wrap around my waist. I lift my head, and we look into each other's eyes, just for a short moment.

And before I know what's happening, my mind has left me in a daze where Camille and Kendall and James don't matter.

Let me forget. Just let me have this moment of lust and want. Let me enjoy myself, if only for a short while.

My mouth is closing the distance between, Carlos understanding and following me the entire way.

Our parted lips meet, and I feel Carlos' wet tongue skim over my bottom lip just as I open. Instantly we begin searching every part of each other's beings in seconds, going in to memorizing every contour of our mouths.

I moan against his moving tongue, especially as he pulls me in tighter around the waist. The sound stifles in between us, and Carlos just seems to be drinking it up. My hands wrap around the back of his head and into the locks of his hair, deepening the sudden kiss.

I can feel the passion seep through the boy underneath me, burning its way into my own body.

It's hot, fiery, sudden, intense and I'm loving every moment of it. Carlos' hands begin to slide under my shirt, rubbing against my cold skin. The warmth Carlos' hands bring makes me shiver and moan all at once.

Carlos.

Carlos.

His name, it starts with a Ca-

Ca...

Ca?

Ca-Camille.

Camille.

No, I can't…

Wha-whatt am I doing! This just proves everything that Camille spoke of. What I feel. I can't be that horrible of a person, to love someone else while in a marriage.

I'm Logan, I can't be that cruel! ... Can I?

I shoot away from his grasp in seconds, hesitantly jumping away from his opened arms.

"Logan-"

"I, I- It's too soon, Carlos. I- I too soon-" I say, just as some more damn tears begin to escape my eyes. God, I'm such a fuckin cry baby! All I ever do is cry, dammit!

Fuck!

"I love her, Carlos, and I miss her, and I love you, and I missed you before, but it's too soon... I'm sorry, but- too soon... Too soon."

His hurt eyes glimmer for one second before he glances at the floor.

"It's fine, Logan. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. It's my fault, and I'm sorry."

I wrap my arms around my own waist, hunching my shoulders over my chest, showing off the look of an insecure child who didn't get his favorite toy at play time. "It's my fault, too, Carlos. You can't take all the blame."

"Logan-"

The door to my apartment opens with a bang, and the first thing I notice is a drunken and stumbling Kendall, a bottle of wine and a 1976 bottle of scotch in his hand.

They're already both half-empty.

He staggers into the room, licking his lips as his eyes droop dramatically.

"You won't _believe_ what I just found out." He slurs, swinging another drink of booze. For a drunkard, he has amazing control over his words. He slurs only a little, but his words are comprehendible. If it weren't for his physical appearance, people might just think he has a speech impediment.

I walk over to Kendall, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to sit on the couch with his swaying body. "Kendall, can you give me the bottle, please?" I ask gently, grabbing onto the neck of the wine.

"N-no. S'mine. S'all mine. I paid fur it, I drink it. End of ze storay!" He tells me with a goofy grin plastered onto his face. I roll my eyes and promptly take a seat next to him, watching as Carlos does the same.

We, the shorter half of Big Time Rush, take one of Kendall's hands into our own, which is hard for both of us since he won't let go of the bottles. We just look at him in his closing green eyes.

"Kendall, we've been talking and we just want to say-" I begin way too slowly. I'm just trying to take this one step at a time.

I'm a doctor, I heal open injuries.

I'm not a therapist. I have no clue how to approach an In-Denial Alcoholic.

"We-we think you might have a problem, Kendall. You seem to be drinking, a lot..." I say sheepishly. I'm trying the direct approach. I hope to God this works, because I'm suddenly not sure if an Indirect Approach will work after a direct approach.

Damn it, I didn't think this through!

"What! I don't drink a lot, Lil' _Logiebear_. Sure I may have a drink or two to settle nerves before a big game, but you should see my teammates. They drink a ton!" Kendall opens wide his arms, emphasizing like a child just how much his coworkers can drink.

I shake my head at blond, forcing him to look at me in the eyes as I tilt his head towards me with a tug to his chin.

"Well, I'm not worried about your teammates drinking habits, I'm worried about you. You have to admit, Kendall, that the amount you drink isn't exactly healthy."

"I'm not an alcoholic, Logie." He states with stubbornness.

"I never said you were."

"Ya, but you were thinking it." He says, pointing and poking the skin on my forehead dejectedly.

"First off, no I wasn't-" I say, shooing away his prodding finger, "-And secondly, whether you like it or not, me and Carlos think that you should go see a therapist. Or an AA group, just to see what they say. I'm not a specialist in this field, Kendall, I don't know what I'm up against."

"A therapist? Logan, I'm not crazy!" He shouts, and begins removing himself from our painful grasps and stumbling to the other side of the living room. Me and Carlos take a quick glance at each other before putting our full attention onto Kendall. We both have that worried look in our eyes, I know that's a fact.

I stand up, putting my hands in the air as if to surrender.

"I'm not saying you're crazy, I just want to know what she says. Nobody should be able to drink a full cabinet of liquor in a little less than two weeks. Please, Kendall. I know someone really good, and if she agrees with you that you _aren't _an alcoholic, just have fun for an hour. Can you please just see her, though, for me and Carlos?"

I may not be a specialist, but I know that is the exact opposite of what I should say. Alcoholics have to get clean for themselves and no one else.

Truthfully, I'm just trying to blackmail him into going, because than maybe he'll realize that he does have a problem and will clean himself up.

I know it's a long shot, but it's all I have to hold onto right now.

"If you don't see her even once, then I'll tell your parents or the paparazzi that you and James did things in your bedroom this morning."

I feel horrible instantly, because Kendall's eyes shoot open, tears springing to life. "Oh, no, nooo, Logie you can't do that! I- did James tell you? God, I'm going to kill that little bitch! Fuck, but please, Logan! Nobody can know, please! My life will be ruined!" He falls onto the floor on his knees, begging and sobbing for me to not tell anyone. It's sad, heartbreaking and almost pathetic, really.

I'm almost glad that he doesn't know that blackmailing him is something I would never do.

I fall onto my knees beside him, pulling him in for a much needed hug.

"I'll do it Kendall. Just go for one session, for me, Carlos and James. None of us like to see you like this. If you don't like it, fine. At least you went once, and that's all I can ask." I can feel him begin to shake in my arms, his head silently telling me 'No'.

"I'm not an alcoholic, Logie." He whispers out half heartedly, as if he's finally beginning to see things in our light. It's the beginning of a turn around.

I grab onto his shoulders and tear his body away from mine, forcing his tearful eyes to gaze into my own.

"Then go to the session and prove me wrong."

And a small smile appears on my face as he begins to nod, finally agreeing to my proposal.


	9. I'm Gunna Getcha Good

Hiya! I am so sorry for the late update. School has been a hassle lately, and i've been working really hard on my new fic. Not a good excuse at all for those that actually like this story, but just... yah. Sorry! and this is also the shortest chapter yet... Sad, considering I've had the next 3 chapters done for months now :/ Oh well! The beginning is exceptionally slow, but I think it starts to get more interesting after this point? I hope so anyways :p It's kind of boring, but I know the end goal/climax and I am so excited for people to read that, I just have to get to it is the hard part :)

Thank you to **Layra** (For the two reviews! haha, you're awesome :p Heres the next chapter! Hopefully you like it!), **Just Fetching** (Poor everyone at this point :/ And yes! That is a good thing! I love it when you guys have no idea what I'm planning, it means I'm not predictable... I hope? haha, thank you so much for the review, and hopefully you'll enjoy this rather short chapter? :p) and everyone who has added this story to their favorites/alerts! It means the world!

I am sorry for any grammatical errors, as per usual! Also, just want to give a little love to everybody in the East Coast, hopefully everyone is doing well! (This is probably redundant because most places are without internet, aren't they? I could completely wrong) But it's the thought that counts! I'm hoping for the best :)

Now onwards to this severly depressing fic (I've said this once, so I'll say it again, it does gets happier! I promise you that :D)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(James' POV)**

"I don't know what to do, Diane."

Diane's boney arms wrap around my body, holding me close. She pulls me against her as she sits against the rocky stone behind her, rocking me as a Mother would a child, from a wall on the side of a street.

She had been worried sick, thinking that during my long lapse of being away from the streets, something fatal had happened to me. She was near tears when I finally found her again, just about to take another dosage of whatever she had. When she saw me at long last, she actually threw the powder away, and ran over to bundle me up in her arms.

I laid against her skinny form, and just talked. The relationship we had wasn't one of friendship, but more of a family type. Like Mother and Son. She took care of me, and was always trying to get me away from my job and the streets.

Only, she also knew that Ali's child support was minimum 2,000$ every freakin month, and that was hard to come by now a days, especially when you also need food, clothes, food, soap, shampoo, conditioner, food, absolutely anything by Cuda because that stuff was essential, and food and drugs and what not.

"I'm worried about him. H-he found out about Beau, but he didn't reject me. I kissed him and he still didn't reject me. He won't admit his sexuality even though I know he wants me, and he won't admit his problem with alcohol. I just hate watching it, Diane."

Diane's hand runs through my hair, brushing the pieces gently. "Just like I'm sure your friends hate seeing you like this. Or how I hate seeing you like this?" She whispers kindly. "I can sympathize, James."

I shiver in her grip, the high still in control of my body.

"I'm sorry." Is all I can muster.

A small laugh escapes her lips. "Alright, let's stop being so dramatic for a minute. We're both still alive, and that's all that matters. You have a job, we have clothes, and a sun beaming down on us. We've got it better than most on the streets... I sometimes wish you were never on the street in the first place, though." She places a gentle kiss to my forehead.

This woman, Diane, is more like a mother to me then Brooke.

Diane, I know, would have come to all of my shows, called me, and tried to give me everything I ever wanted in life, rather than just leading me to ultimate failure by never being enough, like Brooke had.

Sometimes I wish my Dad did stay around. After he left we did sneak in phone calls, since Brooke didn't allow us to visit unless it was a special occasion. But it wasn't the same.

He used to sing me to sleep, believe in me and my dreams. He held me whenever I had a nightmare, played with me until I was too tired and begged him to take me to bed.

He bathed me, fed me, told me he loved me.

He was the ultimate Father, one that only a few are fortunate enough to have.

But everybody has a secret. A demon that they keep locked inside of a closet. My Father just happened to fall in love with his secretary after months of never seeing Mom.

He wasn't satisfied with his marriage, and he went wandering for something else. I guess he found it quickly, because Mom caught him a few months into the relationship that I was ignorant of. Dad was kicked out, and was told to never come near me again unless Brooke planned a date for us to get together.

She even got the police and law involved. And because no one ever says 'No' to my Mom, she won the short lived case in courts, was given full custody of me, had a restraining order put in place for Dad, and the judge agreed that I wasn't allowed to see him unless Brooke set up the dates, as I said before.

That's the reason he rarely called, never gave me his address or phone number, or why I ever saw him.

I always did wonder though. Did he ever see my interviews, or one of my concerts back in the day? Did he miss me? Because my Mom surely didn't.

I googled myself at the library once, after falling in too deep and joining the gay club as a stripper, my old life was officially gone, and had been replaced with scum. There was no missing pictures of me anywhere, or anyone wondering where I was.

Not even old fans seemed to care.

It hurt.

"Sugar, I hate seeing you like this. I know you can get out of here. You're a strong boy, no matter what that brain of yours tells you. I wish you would stop doing drugs and get the hell out of here. I believe in you, sweetie. If I believe that you can do it, why can't you, hmm? Why don't you believe in yourself?"

I pick myself up from the ground and away from her warm embrace. I watch as her saddened eyes follow every one of my staggered movements.

"You haven't been with me all my life. I'm a failure, Diane. It's what I do best." I whisper dejectedly.

"James, sweetie. That isn't true." She says with a kind voice and a roll to her eyes.

"It is, though..." Quickly looking for an escape, I check my wristwatch, noting the time. "I'm late for work. I'll see you around, though, since I'm staying at Logan's..."

A huge smile appears on her face. She throws herself from the ground and wraps her arms around my neck tightly, hugging me with everything her tiny body has.

"I'm proud of you." She reminds me as soon as she pulls away.

"They're making me stay with them. I don't really have a choice." I answer with a sudden laugh.

She instantly cocks her eyebrow at me. "They're not the ones dragging you back to the apartment night after night, James. It's you who keeps returning. You didn't have to make sure Kendall got inside the building. You didn't even have to make sure he made it out of that hotel you two stayed at, alive. They could have picked him up. You could have turned around once you were inside the building when Tommy drove away. He watched you enter the apartments, but he didn't watch you get into the elevators. Subconsciously, James, I think you wanted to go back to them because you've missed them... and by the way, remind me to buy them flowers. They deserve it for putting up with you." She ends with a playful wink, flattening my bangs against my forehead to make sure I look presentable for work tonight.

"Whatever," I reply childishly, rolling my eyes. We laugh at each other half heartedly, just before I begin my descent to the strippers club for another evening of lust, sex, want, need, desperation, possible tears and love.

Everything I have begun to hate.

... And then the back of my mind begins to play with me, taunting and teasing me cruelly with a vicious, unsweetened voice.

_Ya, hate... Unless it's with Kendall, that is.._

I shiver outwardly as I walk, because I know it to be the unspoken truth.

* * *

"Hey, babe." A voice's whisper falls hauntingly down my neck while I'm running over my dance of the night, inside the employees only dressing room. It was eerily deserted in the change room, and I thought I was completely alone. Guess I was wrong. And by the disgusting smell of his nicotine breath, I know exactly who it is. Evan Swartz. Or Evie, as the idiot likes to be called. I really, really, reeeaaalllyyy hate this guy.

"How was the stuff I gave you today? Did you get a little extra kick?" He purrs into my ear, wrapping his arms around my waist.

Being me, James Diamond who hates Evan with a passion, elbows him harshly just below the waist, strategically removing myself from his piggish grasp.

"Why would I get a little extra kick, Evan? What else was in there?" I shout painfully loudly. Luckily it's only me and him in the dressing room, and a few dancers are already on stage, making the speakers boom in our ears and vibrate against the room itself.

Evan smiles like a predator, trying once again to wrap an arm around my waist. "Oh, no reason. Just wondering, Jamie." He finishes his sentence with a wink.

I once again hit his wrist, hoping he'll get the picture that I don't like him like that. Yes, I have sex with him so I can have a room to sleep in on cold nights, but that's the only reason. And luckily for me, that is very quickly all coming to an end.

He wasn't any good, anyways.

"I'm moving out, Evan. I'm going to grab my stuff out of your apartment and I'm leaving to live somewhere else... And I found another drug dealer, I don't have to rely on you anymore." It was a complete and utter lie, but if it got this dick off of my back, then I'll do pretty much anything.

He begins to laugh pitifully, viciously.

"Oh, Jamie." He begins as a taunt, a hand running through his hair. "We've been through this! How many times have you tried to stop, or tried a different dealer? You know that nobody's shit is as good as mine, and when that happens, you'll come crawling back, just like your weak ass always does."

I glare at him, trying to restrain my angered shouts that I know want to be heard aloud. I turn around, away from Evan, and walk over the wrack that holds my outfits. I begin glancing through the assortment, letting my fingers graze sweetly against the soft fabrics, before I make my decision as to what I should wear for the evening.

Leather pants, a low purple v-neck, black boots that end at my ankles and a black leather jacket. Poifect!

I hate showing too much on that stage, and I'm supposed to be a stripper. I find the best shows are when I wear a lot, and it's a slow and teasing descent until I'm a only a ¼ dressed that are the most successful.

Those are the shows that drive the men most wild.

Evan's hands once again encompass my waist, holding me close and clutching tightly against the fabric of Kendall's shirt, which I still happen to be wearing.

"Oh, babe. So lost, don't you know you're safe with me? Wherever you're going, they'll never treat you right like I do."

I shudder in his grasp, trying to remove his fingers from my shirt. Of course, nothing seems to be working. Damn him and his fake muscles...

"Let go of me, Evan. I need to get dressed." I spit out with obvious frustration, eyes closed as I try to keep my breathing even,

I feel his lips fall against the nape of my neck, licking the sensitive skin underneath my ear. A moan inherently escapes past my lips.

"Don't think that I'm going to let you go so easily." He whispers, the cruel intentions laying thick underneath his seductive tone. "You're my best customer, and you're the most amazing person in bed. You're mine, Jamie. Don't you remember all those nights when you beg me to let you come, how you moan out that I own you? That you're mine? Or does all of that escape you?"

I bit the inside of my cheek and look upwards towards the ceiling, still trying to detach his fingers from my body. "The sex only lasts 10 minutes, Evan, and I'm good at my job. I do whatever I can to make you cum as quickly as possible. If that means shouting out stupid submissions to your deranged kinks, then so be it. It finishes the task sooner." I spit at him harshly, speaking nothing but the truth.

He's horrible in bed, I just know exactly what to do and what to say for him to reach his orgasm in less than a few minutes.

"That's all a lie, Jamie. You know you like it!"

"No, Evan. I don't. Now get the heck off me, dang it!"

Evan begins to laugh, finally removing his lips and arms from my withering form.

"Fine, Jamie. I did always love how you only swear in the bedroom, it's a huge turn on. But fine, believe what you want. But just remember that you will crawl back to me, and I'm not going to be so nice each time. You're mine, Jamie, and as long as you need the drugs, you'll always be under my ownership. Always."


	10. Times Are A Changing

I suck at updating. I am so sorry. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I hope it was awesome for everyone! Now onto this new chapter! It was a bitch to write, and editing was even worse. I really dont like it. I personally hate writing a lot of dialogue (just a personal goal of mine, don't do a lot of dialogue. Ish strange :p), and this one needed a lot of talking... :/ Also, any errors are all my own! Sorry in advance :)

Thank you to **Layra** (Thank you so much for the review! Hope you enjoy this one! It means alot :) And Happy New Year! ), **Akire****Alev** (I hate Evan too! He's a dick! But he brings a lot of angst, which does make me happy, personally :p so he evens out for me :p Thank you for the review! I hope you like this Chapter! Happy New Year!), **Barbed Wire Halo **(Thank you so much! Hearing that it's good means so much! And yah, me neither! He's a dick, but he brings angst = me happy :p. Thank you for he review! Hope you like this chapter and Happy New Year!), **annabellex2** (It is sad, but the subject topic is sad, so I wanted to keep it realistic = situation is sad :( BUT, it does get better, quite soon actually! Yay! I hope you're liking it, and I hope you like this chapter! Thanks for the review, and Happy New Years!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(Kendall's POV)**

"Hello, Kendall. I'm Dr. Conner. If you follow me down the hall, we can begin our session."

The chirp of the woman's voice starts off so merrily, it's ridiculous. She's only using that kind voice so I will allow myself to 'trust her', only so she can later weasel her way around my brain and figure out all the problems that is 'Kendall'. Oh joy…. I don't even know this woman…. She could be an elderly psychopathic killer for all I know…. Or a man…. She could be an old blond, skinny woman disguised as a man, who is secretly a psychopathic killer. Thinking about that, I have a sudden urge to watch 'American Psycho'. Haha, that's a good film.

The older woman stares at me with a polite grin while she rolls out her hand for me to shake. I take it, but I roll my eyes at her immediately when she turns. I have to hold in my annoyed groan as I walk behind her into a small professional room with one of those damned, little, stupid ass couches that the victim lays on while the psychiatrist repeatedly asks, 'And how does that make you feel?'.

Awesome.

It's been a week since Logan and Carlos practically black mailed me into doing this. I was drunk, and I couldn't have made a proper consent to allow 'my friends' to force me through this hell hole that is called recovery, which I really don't think I need.

They forced me into an AA group a few days ago. Carlos practically laid himself over top of me like a seatbelt so I wouldn't walk away mid therapy session. Even with his, umm… help? The AA group didn't do much for me.

The next day, Logan thought it would be a good idea for me get a check-up, just in case the years of drinking really have taken a toll; thus, he took me to a doctor, who after a few minor 50 questions, and a full body check (body reactions and stupid shit like that), decided to get me an x-ray.

... Yah. Those pictures didn't come back too positive, but, hey! I'm still alive! I just have a high risk of liver failure when I'm older (and by older I mean it could happen when I'm two months older from now if I keep drinking…) But anywho, with the risk of death lingering around, my life is going fan-fucking-tastic right now, isn't it?

But, on the positive side, I'm sure there's plenty of reasons as to why my liver looks the way it does! I mean, I have been hanging out with James a lot. And he has smoked at least two cigarettes in front of me.

That could be the problem, right?

Right?

The older woman gestures me to sit down on the large comfortable arm chair that's always used in movies for these types of scenarios. She sits opposite of me, legs crossed and just over all way too professional. Truthfully, she reminds me of those creepy ass cougars from our BTR days.

My mind is inwardly yelling at me, "_Psychopathic killer! Psychopathic killer_!"

She smiles sweetly, her ponytail waving to and fro. Looking at me, she begins the session.

"It says here you're in today for a possible addiction to alcohol?" The idiot psychologist says, cutting right to the chase. Well, that leaves little to no room for discussion.

"Possible, yes." I start off slowly. I cross my legs, and begin to chew on my bottom lip warily. My eyes wander away from this creep in front of me, almost like I'm ashamed to even be accused of being an alcoholic. But in mere seconds, an idea comes to my mind. Instead of looking weak, I straighten my back and uncross my legs. With a pleasureably wicked smile, I say, "My friends are worried because they think I have a problem, and I'm just here to get clarification that I don't and so I can stop their worrying." I reply also way too professionally. Two can play at this game, _Mrs. Conner._

She looks over the sheet of paper of my recommendation. "Yes, well, Dr. Mitchell is a very busy and stressed out man as it is. It would be kind of us if we could relieve some of his stress. But, on that topic, may I ask how you and Dr. Mitchell are friends, Kendall?"

... Now that just seems a little too easy.

My eyebrow arches with confusion, wondering what kind of information she could withdraw from me talking about Logan.

"O-okay. Well, me and Logan, along with our two other friends, were best friends back in Minnesota. Logan joined our group in grade 3. He moved to town and we saved him from being beaten up the town bullies. We've been friends ever since. Oh, and our other friend, James, he always wanted to be famous, get out of town, travel the world and have the biggest show in Singapore ever." I end the sentence with a smile.

"Singapore?"

I laugh at that one as well, the look on her face is priceless. I understand, I mean, out of everywhere in the world, just- Singapore?

My Diamond buddy has always been a strange one.

"Strange, huh? Anyways, this record producer came to our hometown, and we brought James to an audition, but I was the one who made the cut. He wasn't very happy about it at first, but after a lot of thinking and an argument with Gustavo, I managed to convince him to bring us all to LA and make us a boy band. I mean, it was James' dream, not mine, but still; if we all could live it, why not?"

Dr. Conner nods her head, her blond ponytail continuing to sway as she writes down some notes. She bites her lips and glances back towards me, putting the ball-point pen down on her sheet of paper.

"Can you describe your other friends to me, Kendall?" She asks politely, and, albeit a little bit hesitant, I nod in agreement. Slowly, I start with an intake of breath and looking down while I fiddle my thumbs.

"Well, Carlos is our crazy friend. He'll do anything for a rush, but he's also really innocent, so he doesn't understand much. He can definitely be the rock for us at times. Let's say if I'm in a fight with Logan and James, he's the one we go to. He can be really good at listening when we need him to be, he's good for that."

"And you keep mentioning James' name. Can you tell me more about him?"

A sad smile appears on my face as I giggle yet again and the mention of his name. "James. How can you even begin to describe James? Well, for one, he's always wanted to be famous. He loves attention, his reflection, his hair, his body, his clothes, his lucky comb. He loves anything that is about him. He could be selfish, and arrogant, and an egotistical bastard at times, but he was also one the best friends a guy could ask for. No matter what he was doing, he always dropped a date or a practice to help one of us. He was the one I always went to first for advice. We met before preschool, and we met Carlitos in Grade 1. So me and James have been together the longest."

I sigh, placing my hands against my kneecaps and rubbing the jean cloth thoughtfully.

"I, he- There's just so much to him, you know? He loves to cook, he's a great chef, but he's always worried about calories. He was constantly called a girl or gay during High School, and it hurt him but it never brought him down. I always found that admirable. He loves to run, sing, dance and act. He loves to cuddle, and he loves chick flicks, but he's changed into somebody that I don't know anymore. He's living with us now, and we still have to go pick up his stuff from his old house, but he's different now, more sad and depressed. It's like all the rude comments finally got to him... I don't know. I just really miss my old friend."

The woman is writing a vast assortment of things down with that stupid little black pen, glancing between me and the clipboard. As soon as she finishes whatever the hell she's writing, she glances towards me, and suddeny switches the topic away from my friends.

"And what about your parents, what can you tell me about them?"

I don't want to. I really don't want to. But if I'm trying to prove my insanity and sobriety, I have to answer all of these damned questions being thrown my way. So, I take a gulp of breath, trying to round my thoughts away from my friends and towards my family. It comes slowly, and Dr. Conner waits patiently to come up for an answer.

"My parents are great people, they really are. They love me and support me through everything. My Mom is always phoning me, asking me if I'm getting enough exercise and food. She worries a lot. So does my little sister, but not nearly as much." I say with a casual laugh, which only forces Dr. Fucking Conner to arch an eyebrow at me strangely.

"And what about your Father?"

At this, I simply shrug.

"My Father is the exact same." I say quickly. "He's a well known pilot, so he was away a lot growing up, which is why he couldn't come to LA with us. But he came to as many shows as he could, and he phoned me every night. He's great, he's just upset that he couldn't be home as much as he would have liked to have been."

"Any grandparents? Cousins? Aunts or Uncles that may have impacted your life?"

I shake my head, glancing towards a window. "N-no. Not really. I mean, I saw my family at every special occasion, and my Mom is very family oriented, but when Big Time Rush came out, it just became more difficult. And for my Grandparents, well, both sides are very religious and are very passionate about their beliefs. They're the type of people who like to shove their ideas down your throat. Like, they completely believe that homosexuality is a sin, tattoos are a sin, shaving your head is a sin. They HAVE to have wine and crackers every Sunday along with a three hour long service and read the bible immedietly afterwards. They devote their life to God, and while I'm okay with that, because that's their beliefs, it's not my life. I never really got into religion myself."

Dr. Conner watches every move I make while I speak, her hardened gaze never faultering. "Mhmm, and what can you tell me about your latest job as being a part of the Minnesota Wild?"

I perk up at this change of topic; this is something I could about for hours.

"Now_ that_ was always my dream. I've always played hockey, ever since my Dad first taught me how to hold a stick when I was 6 months old."

Dr. Conner quirks an eyebrow at me quizzically so I just laugh while I explain.

"There are pictures. But yah, hockey has almost always been my life. If I ever have a bad day, I head off to the rink for a few skates around the arena and practice some slap shots or new moves."

"You seem like you love it."

"I do,"

"And what about your team? Do you get along with them?"

"Oh yah!" I say with exasperation. There isn't _too_ much to complain about there. "They're great. I mean, they call me pansy or fag once in a blue moon because I was in a boy band, but it doesn't get me down, it's just playful teasing."

'_Liar! Liar! Liar!' _The voice in my head yells at me.

I give a sheepish laugh, shaking my head and blink a few times, trying to regain my own thoughts. "I remember when I first started on the Minnesota Wild; I wasn't much of a partier. I always thought that if I wanted in the big leagues, I could never drink, smoke or do drugs, or else my dream would have been thrown away. I just couldn't risk it. But when I started with my team, the guys always took me out for drinks after every practice, every weekend, after every game. It was a celebration. I didn't understand how people could drink that much every day, but they did. And eventually, I got used to it as well."

The woman nods, seemingly to understand. "How much did you drink before you started your position on the wild?"

I only shrug. "Once in a blue moon. Maybe a party or two a year? It was never something I liked doing. I liked having control. With alcohol, all of that control just seeps away, and it scared me."

"And how much would you say you drink now?"

I shrug, once again crossing my legs and biting my lip. "I'll admit that I drink fairly regularly, but nothing to an alcoholics standards. I'll have a glass or two a day of anything. It's just a nice way to relax." I blink a few times timidly, and once again, the voice yells, '_Liar! Liar! Liar!'_

I glance at the clock and sigh loudly, realizing that I only have 10 minutes until I can leave.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Conner, but what does this have to do with helping me?"

The woman sighs, crossing her legs and putting down her abundance of notes that she had taken during the 50 minutes I've been talking. It was almost scary how many she had taken. I mean, is that normal?

"Well, Kendall," She begins slowly, rolling her wrist as if she just needs something to do while she talks to me. Or maybe she has arthritis and needs to do that…. You never know, this woman is old.

She's like 55 or something.

"Right now I'm just trying to get to know you better. Understand you and where you're coming from. You can learn a lot from a person in an hour."

I nod, wanting her to continue on, since her answer was not the one I wanted. Do I really have to spoon-feed her to get her to tell me the information? I just want her to tell me that I'm not an alcoholic so I can shove the news into my friends' faces.

She glances at me with confusion, and I only become more flustered in my seat. God, how did this idiot of a woman get a degree and is working? It just doesn't seem right. "Right, and what have you learned about me?"

"Plenty. You become almost giddy when you talk about your job, and it's obvious that you love it and miss it very much. It's a passion. You flinched three times when I mentioned your family, specifically anything focusing on religion. You cross your legs and bite your lips when we brought up alcohol, each and every single time, as if you needed it right then and there, that you wanted it subconsciously. You act natural when you talked about Logan and Carlos, but you brightened up immensely when you talked about James. You played with your fingers whenever I say your own name, as if you're embarrassed by it. And you blinked three times every time you lied. Like when I asked about the drinking. You can learn a lot by just simple observations, Mr. Knight.

I blink again, this time noting my blinks.

"... What?"

Is that really all I can say? 'What'?

"Kendall, you can take what I say with a grain of salt, but from everything you've told me today and everything I've been told by Dr. Mitchell, I do believe you have an addiction to alcohol. I believe that you became physically addicted when you tried to drink alongside your teammates on the Minnesota Wild, and after a while the alcohol changed your brain chemistry, forcing you into this change where nothing seems good or positive. The alcohol changed you, you yourself had nothing to do with it. I would like to recommend you to a specialist and possibly an AA group, but I can't force you to do anything. This is your choice, no one else's. If you don't agree with me or your friends, then that's alright. But I do think it would be for the best."

* * *

When I make it back to the apartment after the session, the first thing I do is avoid Logan's and Carlos' hesitant stares as I make my way to my room. James is probably just finishing the end of his shift, stripping and teasing men, so I have the small room completely to myself for now.

The fact that I get riled up and angry when I even mention his job makes what Dr. Conner said a little bit more truthful.

I grab my cell phone from my back pocket, dialing a number that I haven't called since I left.

The phone's ringing blares into my eardrums, and the instant someone picks up, my heart stops.

"Kendall?" He asks gently.

"H-hey, Coach. Listen, I have something to discuss with you."

I can hear the man sigh from the other end of the line. He begins yelling at my team to continue doing laps before he removes himself from the loud environment of the rink. A few minutes pass, and a door shuts on the other end, signalling that he's now in his office.

"Okay, Knight. I'm open ears."

I stammer. I fucking stammer while trying to tell him what needs to be said.

"C-coach, I-I've been doing some thinking." My voice is stuttering like a fucking scared child's would if they were attacked by the boogeyman. What the actual fuck!

"I'm taking the season off." I state, slamming my foot on the floor to get some damned courage into me and stop that fucking shaking.

"What?" He yells incredulously, but there's a hint that this isn't surprising. It's almost as if he's trying to fake his astonished tone. "You're on the top of your game right now, why would you want to eave, Knight?"

"Coach, it's just- my friends are worried about me. They sent me to a shrink today, and what she says, I guess, sort of makes sense. I think I'm addicted to alcohol, and my health is my main concern. I don't want to do anything that's going to end up putting me in a coffin earlier then I have to be, so to make sure that never happens, I'm going to stay with my friends for the time being. I'm taking up some classes and my friend recommended a psychologist. I'm getting help, Coach... And as much as I want to play this season, I'm more worried about myself right now, instead of my job…. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

_Oh please, please understand!_

I hear him take a few breaths on the other end. They almost sound like sighs of relief.

"I'm proud of you, Knight. I was hoping this little trip would get your act together. I hoped it would be shorter, but you do what you gotta do. You'll always have a spot on this team as long as I'm around."

I shell-shocked. I can barely move. "Wait- What?"

The older man laughs kindly on the other end of the line, and I can tell that he's cleaning up his work desk at the same time. The man always has to be doing two tasks at once to keep his attention occupied.

"I figured you were having difficulties, and truthfully, I thought you lied about your friend's death. Don't worry, I've heard worse from people in your situation, so it could have been valid. I thought you were actually just going to rehab in secret, but apparently I was wrong. But, that's besides the point. You're getting help now, Knight. You have no idea how proud I am; just remember, Minnesota Wild is the light at the end of the tunnel whenever the going gets tough. Alcohol addiction isn't an easy thing to conquer."

I turn my head when the bedroom door slowly begins to open. I see James peek his head in, tired yet happy. He tries to remain quiet as he tiptoes into the room and begins to raid the wardrobe, looking for one of my overly large shirts to wear for the night before quickly changing. I sigh in relief as I turn away to give him privacy.

I'm just happy he's home.

And since he's grabbing a nightshirt, I assume he's going to try to sleep sooner earlier than 5 am in the morning, when his usual shifts end.

Is it sad to say that I kind of love how he uses my clothes for nightwear?

Logan must have told him to keep quiet, since I'm usually blantantly loud when I'm on the phone, and hate when others interrupt me. But it's kind of cute how James is trying his hardest to stay quiet, even as he bangs into the side of the desk, he tries his hardest to his yelp down. I notice how my nightshirt falls lazily off his skinny shoulder.

I really need to take him shopping, my outfits are like, 8 sizes too big for his skinny-assed little body.

While I listen to my Coach go off about how he'll miss me this season, how he's so proud, and please, just remember the light at the end of the tunnel, I can't help but smile as I watch James move into our bed and underneath the covers, almost looking healthier then he has in a long while.

Watching James close his eyes, I say with a truthful smile, "I have multiple lights at the end of my tunnel, Coach. I have plenty of reasons to get over this, but thank you for understanding. I really appreciate it."


	11. Bad Romance

I am so sorry for the late update. I suck. School, sickness, life... homework/midterms = the death of me. No excuse. I'm sorry! I hate that, this and about 5 more chapters are done, and have been done since September. But I like to believe my writing has gotten better since then, (hahaa, lol! nope!), so I'm overly critical with what I wrote then (like this chapter), and it's almost painful to go back over chapters like these and try to edit them. I just cringe. Is it normal to dislike your own writing? But yah, even though the majority IS written, I still dont update this frequently... Yah, doesn't make sense to me either.).. And I apologize for any errors in the next chapter!

**Just Fetching** (Really?! It was realistic?! That's awesome to hear, thank you! I've never been to one, but I did research it :p haha. I kind of love James' and Kendall's unrequited love, it is very cute! I hope you like this Chapter, and thank you for the kind and awesome review! It means the world to me!), **Barbed Wire Halo** (Thank you! I like his Coach! I hate that he has such a small part though :/ But thank you so much for reviewing! Hopefully you'll like this chapter!), **AkireAlev** (Yes! Yes! Yes he iss! It's exciting :p Awh, glad to hear you liked it! And thank you! Hopefully you'll like this one too!), **LMACBTR84** (Awwh, thank you for the review and kind words! Glad to hear you' like it! Here's an update and hopefully you'll like this one as well!), **annabellex2** (Yay for Kendall getting help! Glad he's finally becoming reasonable, haha :p And can't quite say about James…. That may or may not be in the upcoming chapters, haha :p Thank you so much for the review! And here's an update! Hopefully you like it!), **Mr. President 64 (**wow, you have no idea how much I loved your review, thanking you so much for posting it! I am so sorry to hear about your friends, and I hope they come their senses soon. It's horrible to watch that. And I couldn't ever imagine glorifying drugs. The ups can be glorified to an extent, but ugh- I agree, many stories do that and it's rather scary to read. And yup, it's official, after reading your awesome summary, my plot has too much going on ,haha :p I'm taking on a lot, but I think it's working out? I'm so glad to hear you like it as much as you seem to! That means the world to me! I hope the rest o the story will be good, I'm always a bit nervous about that :p we'll see! Don't set your hopes to high! Here is the next chapter, and I hope you like it! Once again, thank you so much, and I hope everything goes well with your friends!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(James' POV)**

I'm proud of Kendall. I guess having Logan and Carlos on your back constantly would force you to change a few things around. I couldn't sympathize, though…

I mean, I guess I could understand: Kendall was the leader who solved all our problems. And since we've been leaderless for so many years, it would be natural for me to say that now we have so many problems we don't even know where to begin, and said faithful Leader just so happens to be one of them. I don't like saying that, since we should be independent, but I can't, and that's the truth. We need our leader and that's scary. Long story short, Kendall is their focus, just so he can be 'fixed' and then quickly save everyone else, just like the good old days.

That's a lot of pressure to put onto someone...

But, talking about Kendall being their focus, that isn't entirely true. Carlos is the sub-focus for Logan, and vice versa for Carlos. Ya, you heard me. They're both unwilling to admit it, though, which is horrible.

In a way, it is understandable, what with Camille and Logan, but that's only an excuse if those two had actually loved each other from the start. From my point of view, they just lusted one another, and their fear of being alone caused them to end up together, which I don't think was ever supposed to happen. Now, Carlos and Logan have been sneaking glances at each other since Middle School back in Minnesota when we started 'changing'.

I'm kind of like Cupid in a way, I can tell when someone is in love with someone else, and when they aren't. If they are, James Diamond becomes the ultimate match-maker! Most of my ever-so-pleasant schemes often fail due to unnatural disasters (like at a Valentines Dance, I arranged this guy to hold up a heart with the girl-of-interest's name on it, but I made the sign 3D, and it was too heavy for him to hold. He ended up dropping it on the pillar holding the arch when you enter the door. Well, the pillar/column/arch came toppling down and hit the food table and then utter chaos ensued… The girl-of-interest was in the hospital for about a month with a concussion, but really that's just one example of one of my plans gone awry…)

To me, Carlos and Logan are almost in love, they just need to get over their own angst and let loose.

Let loose.

... Let loose. Not going to lie, I could definitely use a 'let loose' session right now. I have a few T3's, and those will just make everything spinny and make me drowsy, which is pretty much how I'm feeling right now anyway. Only those would actually put me to sleep.

It couldn't hurt, right?

I haven't done anything since after my shift, the day before yesterday anyways. I'm going to need something soon, I can already feel it.

And T3's can subside that need for just a little while.

T3's are better than Coke any day, so hey, at least it's something!

I get up from mine and Kendall's shared bed, watching the time anxiously. Kendall should be returning any moment now from his latest appointment with Dr. Conner. Okay, got to do this quickly then.

I walk over to wear my own dirty pants lay on the wooden floor, searching for the little white pills.

I begin searching, and searching, my hand rustling in the back jean pocket.

... They're not there.

Anxiety beginning to raid my body, I begin searching the other pocket, and then the front, and then the next and last one...

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing!

Did I lose it? But- how?

Shi- no, don't swear. You're better than that but, oh god; I need something! Please, just appear in front of me. Allow me to be The Green Lantern for a few seconds and just let those pills appear in front of me. Please, I need them! I'm almost in hysterics on the floor at this point, hands running through my hair as I'm freaking out, my teeth unconsciously grinding harshly against one another.

I need Coke, but I don't want it. The pills could let me escape that need, where are they? Were are they? Wehre are they? Wheere? Were? Wehre? Where?

What, but-

"Looking for these?"

It's scary how quickly I turn, Kendall facing me from the outline of the now opened doorway.

He's smirking at me coolly, holding my three little life supports as if it were nothing in his hands.

"Kendall, please, give them to me, I need them," I beg from the ground pitifully. I hate how weak and baby-like I am right now, but can't he understand that they're good for me?

They keep me away from Coke for just a little while. Doesn't he understand that?!

"Do you know how bad T3's are for you if you take them in an abundance?" He enters the room and grabs onto my shaking arm, dragging me down towards the bathroom none to gently.

I barely manage to follow, my feet tripping over themselves, and I'm still over dramatically upset that He. Has. My. Pills!

He pushes me to the floor of the bathroom, where I stay with discomfort. My eyes twitch back and forth, looking at the shaking pale fingers curved against each other on my lap and Kendall.

"James, watch this." His voice calls out to me gently

My eyes move upwards, slowly putting all of my focus on the tall blond. From my hunched over position, my bangs over my eyes, and I know he isn't sure if I'm actually watching him, but he goes along with whatever plan he has in mind anyways.

He walks over to the toilet, lifts up the seat and only watches me to see what my reaction will be. His hand that holds the T3's slowly lifts upwards, until it's directly over the toilet.

My shaking increases as my mind begins running through what exactly he's going to do. He won't do it, will he? He can't. He wouldn't. He won't! He-

Kendall, lifting a large eyebrow consciously, drops his palms so it's facing the water, and opens his closed fist.

It's like a slow motion scene in an action movie as I watch each one drop almost lazily. They all fall into the depths with a '_plunk_' and heightened splashes.

His hand runs over the silver knob, turning it, flushing away my little angels that would help take me away from this place with the beauty of sleep and drowsiness.

I remain silent and wide eyed, which is surprising with my current state of mind.

"Now come on, we're going to that Ev-Dawg guy's house so you can pick up your stuff. Now let's go."

He walks out of the remains of the bathroom, leaving me alone on the floor.

All I can think about is the 200$ worth of escape that he just tossed away like it was nothing...

I need something.

And I don't want to do Coke. Those T3's have been the only thing holding me back, and I refuse to take anything else.

What am I going to do now?

... I'm scared.

* * *

The car ride to the house is a short one, silent above all else. There are no words spoken, nor does there need to be. It's like a silent agreement.

Don't ask about the appointment, and he won't ask me about the pills, where I got them or why I was about to use them. Everything remains a mystery, even though talking about it might be the best medicine for both of us.

Only, we're both too stubborn to admit we need each other's help.

"Where's this guy's house?"

"Evan's?"

Kendall grunts uneasily, eyes remaining on the road ahead, agreeing to my question. He answers as if I'm an idiot... Although I am into drugs. If that isn't idiot material enough I don't know what is.

"We have four more lights to pass through and then turn a left. His house is the fourth one down."

Kendall nods, understanding the simple directions.

When we reach Evan's house, Kendall can only gape. "This is his house?" He screeches, his face contorting into the funniest thing I think I've ever seen.

"How the hell does that Bastard afford this?" He questions, pointing to the million dollar home.

The 'house' is three stories, and looks more like a mansion than an actual home. It just looks big from the outside, but I can promise you it's not that big on the inside.

Hah, kind of like Evan... Its probably big because he's compensating for something. What? I mean, I'm not that mean, heheh...

But seriously, the guy has a tiny dick.

"He cooks and sells drugs, Kendall. That's a large business in Hollywood."

Kendall's eyes burst open, staring at me in shock.

He runs over to my side of the car, glancing pathetically between me and the house. "The bastard cooks, too?"

I just shrug at his question. "Well, yah. It's cheaper. Someone taught him a few things a couple years back, since he's not capable of learning that kind of thing on his own... Anyways, let's just get inside, it's cold out here..."

I wrap my arms around my shivering body, completely aware that it's in the low 90s outside. Kendall gives me a pitiful look, before sighing in defeat. He follows me as I look through a potted plant near the doorway, searching for the key holder for the house.

My hands land against a plastic rock, opening it and removing the golden key in seconds. I don't even bother with putting the fake rock back together, we'll just be back out in a few minutes anyways.

With a swift notion, I open the door. Kendall watches every single one of my movements, fearful for any oncoming panic attacks that I might get if I don't get something I'm craving into my system soon.

"My stuff is up stairs." I say, my finger pointing towards the staircase that greets us as we enter the room.

"Great!" He responds sarcastically. He grabs onto my wrist, dragging me up the delicate stairwell.

The house is newly remodeled and has cost Evan close to a million dollars to repair and fix up. He scammed his way to get a small loan from the bank, and has since paid every penny back.

There are quite a few perks of being one of the leading drug dealers in Hollywood and almost all of L.A, and getting a lot of dough and get away with scams just happens to be one of them.

The house itself is fresh and modern, looking like a house built in one of those new suburbs, or a picture right from a Decorating magazine. It's perfect with all of the beautiful woods, and neutral colours. And yet, the only thing that wasn't redone was the creaky stairway.

I'm sure Kendall is shocked. He was probably expecting some dingy, old, shaggy 1 bedroom apartment that was falling apart. He should know by now to never assume things.

The creaks of each step is not doing well for my anxiety. I know that Evan isn't home yet, but therein lies a problem all of its own. I don't know when he left or when he'll return. The fear I feel creeps up my spine like calloused fingertips. He would be furious if he saw me packing up and leaving. He probably thought I was lying the other day... That scares me. I don't want to deal with him at the moment.

The familiar smell of Evan's house lingers in the air. Sex and sweat mixed with little bit of pot flows through the slight breeze and into mine and Kendall's bodies. The gross yet familiar smell makes me cringe, and I know Kendall is feeling the same way by the disgust on his face.

So many harsh memories were made here...

_Evan, drunk haggard Evan, walked up the stairs sloppily, James trying to hold his large body up. The man was horny beyond belief, and could barely handle it. Giggling away, he threw James against the wall, taking him in on one thrust, laughing when he felt a small bit of red liquid trickle down the brunettes legs. Each harsh thrust he made, a creak soon followed..._

The memories are pitiful and disgusting, and I feel ashamed for every being apart of his gruesome actions.

We make it to the top of the stairs where an open area awaits us. There is a large flat screen TV hanging on the wall, surrounded by various cupboards with random video games, movies and porn. There were two couches, and a set of weights on one side of the couch facing the TV. A bathroom was at the far end of the open room, and the master bedroom was to our immediate right.

Of course, I know the layout of the upstairs like the back of my hand.

My first time with Evan had been on that couch facing the TV. I was begging and crying for something, anything to stop the vicious needs of the voice inside my head, telling me that I needed coke. I was willing to do anything for it. He comforted little, and decided as soon as my pleas ceased to take my wiling body as his, promising me 'something special' afterwards. And I did surprisingly end up getting it. After that, we made an agreement: Evan allows me a house to live in, a place to wash up and eat with any sort of drug I want at any given moment, as long as he could take me at any moment he wanted, no complaints given.

"Where's your stuff?"

I think I'm about to be sick. I hate this house and what I've done in it! I hate it! I hate it!

How could I allow myself to do any of that? I hate it and it hurts, emotionally and physically. Why did I do it... Why do I keep doing it with other men as my job down at Oasis?

Why can't I just stop?

"B-bedroom..." I stutter out and Kendall's eyes instantly ease up from that cold exterior I've grown accustomed to these past few weeks. With a kind arm, he extends outwards and places me next to his side, rubbing my bicep for warmth.

"It's okay." His voice is small, as if he's hiding away from a monster that's chasing us, and he wishes to remain hidden but still has a few last words to say just in case the monster does find and kill us. It's just like all those sappy movies we used to make fun of as teenagers.

"Let's just get out of here. The sooner we get out, the better."

Kendall exhales deeply and nods his head, following me into the master suite.

Evan's bedroom is large, of course, and has an unmade king sized bed, filled with dirty clothes and crisscross brown and beige linens scattered sparsely on its top. It lays directly in the middle of the chamber. The area is filled with gym equipment, and could be mistaken for a makeshift gym itself... only it's a bedroom. Not a gym.

Idiot.

Another flatscreen TV hangs from the wall, facing the horrid thing called a bed, and towers over an antique oak table. A recorded game of football is playing on the screen.

The thing that catches my eye is the top shelf of the table, and the hidden compartment filled to the brim with all of Evan's various and need-to-be-sold drugs. And I just so happen to know where the key for the secret compartment hides...

I've said this before, and I'll say this again. Evan is an idiot. Everyone in the drug industry knows to never hide your drugs in one place, in the special occasions such as this. The police, or in this case an addict who's desperately in need, finds it.

Smiling to myself, I open the closet door, drawing out an old backpack. I notice Kendall wandering around, looking and inspecting every piece of equipment that isn't me.

Here's my chance.

I quietly open the backpack, and lift the key from under a napkin on the table itself (See? The guy is brilliant... not), and open the top drawer to the hidden compartment.

I swear, it glows just as the gates of heaven would if I actually ever made it to heaven. Or believed in it...

I once again glance at Kendall, who's facing the direction away from me and entering the pristine master bathroom.

Okay, here we go.

I run my hands over all the different pills and powders, locked securely into special little baggies. I grab whatever I can and shove it into the backpack, repeating the process. Over and over again.

I slowly can feel myself become greedy, needing more and more, and hey- maybe I can sell some. Just as the last few baggies enter the confines of the backpack, a hand grabs onto my wrist, stopping every movement.

"What are you doing." He whispers darkly. I gulp, half afraid of who I'll find when I turn. And much to my delight, there's Evan, eyes playful and a large smirk plastered onto his face.

He's drunk, which is the number one reason he isn't mad.

"I-I... I'm leaving, Evan. Just like I said." I brush my back up against the drawer, pushing it back and locking it. He doesn't even know that I took anything.

He brushes a hand over my cheekbone, before punching me straight on. My head tosses into the direction he hit, stars dancing over my vision without hesitation.

"And remember what I told you? You're my best customer, almost gave up all of your money from your albums to me, along with that slut, Ali. Never knew why you're so devoted to keeping in contact with that bitch, when I'm so much better in bed than she ever was."

The backpack falls from my grasp and leans against the table, luckily the open side upwards so nothing falls out. Evan grabs hold of my arm and shoves me roughly onto the bed, quickly gaining ground as he slides over my hips.

"Told you I wouldn't give you up so easily. Your cock feels so good inside of me, it fits perfectly. And I love when I take you from behind, all those little noises you make, god, it's so hot."

In a frantic state, I try and slither my way out of his grasp, hitting and kicking the steroid user with all of my might.

"Oh, I see you've got a little fight left in you. I thought we got rid of that when I first had my way with you.. oh well, a little fight is always fun, especially when I break it." His voice becomes tense as he tosses my body over, my stomach hitting the mattress, his own erection pressing into the small of my back.

My head is smashed into the comforter, forcing me to smell to excess sweat and everything disgusting. Struggling but incapable of screaming, I fling every limb of my body, attempting to move, my shouts muffled by the duvet but hopefully loud enough for Kendall to hear inside the bathroom.

"James, have you seen this guys'-" Kendall voices travels, even echoing after the voice itself has long since stopped. I hear his footsteps at the doorway, just in time to see Evan's hands beginning to travel in places that obviously shouldn't be traveling.

"What the fuck are you doing!" Kendall shouts, stomping over to the bed after rapidly analyzing the situation.

I feel Evan move his body, shocked by the fact that there's another person with me. His head twitches upward haphazardly, his drunken stupor still affecting his body.

"Wha-" is all he's able to get in before Kendall punches him directly in the jaw, the same place that Evan had hit me moments before. Evan's body tumbles off of me, and Kendall' hands replace Evan's wandering ones, dragging me from the bed and onto the safety of the ground.

"Fuck, that fucking hurts you asshole! Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you in my house! Give my bitch back to me, he'll never leave anyways. Just leave and don't waste your time with him, or else I'll call the fucking cops!"

Kendall glances over me, and I give him a thumbs up signalling that I'm alright before he turns back towards Evan in rage.

"He isn't your bitch, fucktard! And don't you ever touch _James_ again, or so help me god, I will find out and come back and hurt you!" Kendall punches him once more, the alcohol and the hits now knocking the man into unconsciousness.

I move quickly, grabbing the backpack and latching open another drawer in the table where my clothes and extra stuff happen to be, tossing them into the bag without some sort of organization that I would have liked, prior to whatever is happening right now.

After everything is inside, I zip the bag backup and get onto my feet, grabbing Kendall's awaiting hand at the door, running away from this place once and for all.

Hopefully something will finally work out for the best, and Evan will believe this was one of his bizarre dreams that he has when he's drunk.

Because, hey, he never did notice the backpack, or the fact that I stole all of his drugs. And as much as I hope it to be true, the man is an idiot, but he's not that stupid to figure out that I was the thief.

* * *

"Kendall, he's going to come after us, and he's going to kill us and he's going to be really angry and just- fuck!" I shout inside the car, Kendall making another harsh right turn towards Logan's house.

"It's alright, James. He's passed out, he'll probably think it was a dream... Hopefully."

He barely registers that I just swore, something that I only do when sexual arousal is building in the bedroom.

I don't know why I'm not much of a swearer, but get me into a bedroom and I'm like freaking sailor.

"You don't know him like I do, Kendall. And I still have to pay Ali's child support! The only place that gives me that good of money is at Oasis, I can't quit my job because of Evan! Oh fuck-"

I slam my head into my hands, forcing myself to just breathe and calm down. I just need to focus on the child support, and nothing else, and maybe that will give me another reason to try to avoid Evan's wanting gazes. It'll never stop him though, if he feels like he can and is in desperate need, he'll force me into his car or something and have his dirty way with me.

Whether he forces me to be top or bottom, it doesn't matter. It sucks both ways. I truthfully prefer the bottom, because then I at least know that I couldn't get away, with his huge body looming over mine, even though I may have tried as hard I could have to escape. The screams coming from my mouth are usually of pain, not pleasure. But when he sits on my hips and rides me, it's awful, just because I can't help but moan at the tightness, the warmth and the feeling that he's sucking me in, trying to become one. It feels good and I can't help it, no matter how much I don't want it.

Me and Kendall make our way inside the apartment. A note greets us on the counter of the kitchen, saying that Logan and Carlos went out for the evening, and that supper is in the fridge.

My anxiety from Evan' house has only increased.

The only clear thoughts running through my mind are 'We're so going to jail. Evan's going to kill me. That was fucking hot. Dear god, what am I going to do about my shift tomorrow night when I see Evan again? And lastly, a word that only sneaks into my vocabulary inside the bedroom- Fuck!'

"James, you have to calm down." Kendall attempts, his head glancing inside the fridge looking for food.

Pfft. He's acting all high and mighty, just because he's been fully sober for four days now. He's acting like it isn't affecting him. Ya right, I know differently. He's building a wall, blocking out his emotions so we don't have to watch his downfall before he cracks and opens a bottle of alcohol.

"Calm down? You expect me to calm down! Are you kidding?" I screech, my hands flailing out into the air. Kendall looks at me with bored eyes, but there's a hint of pity in those deep emerald greens. He shuts the fridge, and falls against it coolly, looking at me to continue my rant.

So I do.

"He's going to hurt someone, Kendall. He'll be pissed as fuck when he wakes up and it's going to be one us he's going to hurt, mainly me. And even if he was drunk, what if he recognizes your face, and sees you walking down a street someday and decides to get his revenge? I mean, we haven't thought this through at all, what if he takes us to court! We don't have any money, and I have a bitchy girl-person who already needs money for a kid that's apparently mine and I-"

But I'm not able to continue, because Kendall's lips are melding against my own, shutting out my voice from any further talking.

Within a millisecond, my hands clench into a tight fist against his clothed chest, bringing him closer.

Wow, fucking asshole. But his lips feel really nice and soft and perfect and- god. I don't want this to end.

Why does he have to be so perfect, when that's all I've ever wanted and have never been able to obtain? It's admirable and furiously frustrating all at the same time.

Both of our mouths part, our tongues darting out and discovering the contours of each other in seconds. I can't help it, I moan further into the kiss, tightening my fists on his shirt.

Kendall groans, his hands pulling me closer by the belt straps of my jeans.

And truthfully, I don't know what happens next, but we soon find ourselves breathless, needing more and more skin as our shirts are thrown off and we enter the safety of our bedroom, slamming the door and falling against the bed, the mattress falling and squeaking against our weight.

Our moans heighten towards the ceiling. We kiss, moan, groan, feel each other's skin.

But that's all we're doing, nothing more and it doesn't need to be.

Right now, I know both of us are melting in each other's arms, just needing that person who understands.

My fingers intertwine with the strands of his hair, as my other hand plays against his fingertips. He smirks into the deep, lustful kiss filled with tongue and sweat and saliva, grabbing my lower back and pulling me closer.

45 minutes have passed when we part for a final time, staring into each other's eyes. My hands swing around his neck, pulling him closer as his own encompass my waist, doing the same. We lay side by side in each other's arms, both of our scents mixing together in the air.

Evan and Ali and Diana and Beau and my parents and all my customers and the drugs and everything that's ever gone wrong in my life are so far away now, as if Kendall's kisses in itself are a drug to let me escape and forget for just a short while.

"What does this make us Kendall? This is the second time we've kissed and done stuff... What's happening?"

Kendall's eyes are closed as he's beginning to drift into a deep sleep, but his body stiffens at my question.

"I don't know what we are, James." He states dryly, his voice hoarse.

And I don't know what makes me say it but I do,

"But I want to be with you, Kendall. Do _this_ with you and _just_ you. I like it... An-and I know you probably wouldn't want to tell anyone, but, I just- I won't tell anyone, I swear! We can keep it a secret, just between us! Just please, can we be together? I know you like it, and I know you like guys... An-and I want to be able kiss you and hug you without fearing that you're going to hate me and reject me for it... I know you like it too, Kendall... Please?"

My voice is pathetic and whimpering and whiny like a fearful childs.

It's aggravating to no end.

Kendall's green eyes open, the one's I love to stare into and dream about because they bring a sense of safety and nostalgia, and they're just so incredibly green and handsome and amazing and perfect.

The man in my arms shrugs and exhales deeply, thinking over my pleads.

His hand drops from my own and he jokingly taps a finger against my nose, playfully.

"I don't know, James. I don't want my parents finding out, or Logan and Carlos... They'd all hate me, I know it." His voice breaks, and just before I have a chance to tell him differently, he cuts me off.

"And besides, I need to focus on staying sober, I don't think a relationship like ours would help me."

I do nod at that and agree whole heartedly, knowing that I _am_ a failure and would probably subconsciously force Kendall back into drinking so shortly into his sobriety.

"Maybe when everything has passed, we can focus on us, but right now, I need to focus on me. Why I turned to drinking and why I barely even noticed my habits. I'm going to stop drinking, and that's what I need to focus on, not a relationship. I'm sorry, James."

"But afterwards?"

"Afterwards... Maybe. We'll see what happens."

"Can we still kiss and cuddle? I like cuddling with you..." I ask teasingly, pulling him in closer for more warmth against my bare torso. Kendall inhales and begins to smile widely.

"Ya, I guess we can do that." His eyes begin to shut, and I press a kiss next to his ear, a small groan escaping from his lips.

"You've always been there for us, Kendall, looking after everyone else's problems. I'm glad you're finally looking after yourself for once, you deserve it." I whisper into his ear.

I feel a soft snore vibrate against my neck, where Kendall's head happens to be resting. I smile, tightening my hold before joining him in the world of dreams; a place where none of my problems exist, and everything is possible.

It's exactly where I need to be.


	12. Little Talks

I still suck. Here is an update. Hopefully it's okay! I'm sorry if there are any errors!

**Mr. President 64 **(Yes! This story is slowly coming back to life! As soon as you made the review, I checked out the song (I've seen Burlesque- love it!- I just forgot which song was which, whoopsies!) and you're right! It does perfectly describe it! And btw, I needed to download that song, but I temporarily forgot about it's existence, so thank you for mentioning that! haha. I'm going to try and incorporate it somewhere, I definitely want to meow, but I make no promises, BUT I WILL TRY! ... awwh, thank you so much for the kind words, you have no idea how much they mean to me! You're way to kind! just, gahh, awwh, thank you, and I hope you like this chapter as much as you liked the prior ones!), **Just Fetching **(I now feel bad for calling the character Evan due to your friend :p Random fact! His name was originally Arnie Swartz, but then 3 days later I watched Terminator 2, and I'm just like, fuck- I can't name him that! I'm channeling Arnold Swartz...-the rest of his name! haha. And thank you so much for the review! It means the world! And I think in the last chapter's A/N, I said how I wrote that chapter months ago, and there were certain scenes I cringed at, and due to the cringing, it was unbearable to edit? The scene you brought up with James and how he should have been cautious was that scene! My thoughts were the exact same as yours :/ But anywho, hopefully you like this chapter! THANK you so much for the review!), **AkireAlev** (Evan should be stabbed by a fork! I agree! Especially after this chapter :p Forking Evan, I like your way of thinking! Thank you so much for the awesome review! And hopefulyl you like this chapter! No more Kames in this chapter unfortunately :( But I will say that, at the moment, I don't think James will go back to that place, yay! Once again, thank you!), and finally, **annabellex2** (Yay for Kames! Unfortunately no interaction happens between the two this chapter :( sowwwyy :( And I hope everything works out for them as well! Thank you for the lovely review, dearie! Hopefully you like this chapter! Thank you!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

* * *

**(Logan's POV)**

I look around the dim lighted, pristine room. It's extravagant to the point of being down right preposterous. I can't believe such fancy places still exist in LA, it seems so old English.

So Hollywood.

So fake, and _oh so_ pretentious for being fake.

"So what made you take me here, Carlos?" I ask, observing the over priced menu with a quirked eyebrow.

"I figured we needed to get away for a bit, you know, from all the drama. I figured a nice dinner would be perfect." The Latino turns his head towards me, smiling that adorable smile that makes me want to just jump over the table and kiss him until he begs me to let him breathe... It's a bizarre thought, but extremely arousing nonetheless.

"I, umm... Like your choice of restaurants. The wine here is amazing."

Carlos blushes abashedly by what I just said. Smirking, he picks up his wine glass and takes a small sip. "James recommended it. The restaurant _and_ the wine."

I have to laugh, because that does make sense. This place is extremely Hollywood, which is so (oddly) fitting for James, even in his current situation.

Regarding the menu again, I quickly run past the 2 paged pasta section, and probably the most boring, most ordered plate of food is what jumps out at me, instead of the gourmet plates with the fancy sauces and the Chef's recommendations.

A plate of spaghetti and meatballs, which comes with garlic toast.

My second thought? It has Garlic Toast, and toast is the Best. Thing. Ever! Garlic toast, however, isn't as good as just toast itself, but it's close enough!

I slam the menu shut and slap it against the table, taking a sip of my own cabernet red wine and allow myself a glance towards Carlos, who's still looking large menu with a quizzical expression.

He's adorable, even when he doesn't want to be...

_What would Camille say about this?_

Shut up- Just shut up.

It's been over a month. And Carlos has been there for me the entire time, I'm allowed to say that he's adorable when it's true.

_A month? Even after all those years of being her boyfriend? You can move on that quickly?_

Shut up!

_You're pathetic._

"Do you know what you're getting yet? I ask spontaneously, and Carlos jerks away from his thinking, obviously a little shocked by my loud voice. I feel bad, I'm only trying to stop those thoughts from further entering my mind. I swear I'm going crazy.

"Umm, I don't know. I think I might just get the steak with baked potato. It sounds really good."

"Aww, I was hoping we could share." I wink at the Latino, who's Adam apple bobs up and down as he gulps. I guess I'm not the only one aroused.

Okay, we're not teenagers anymore. We shouldn't be so turned on by just a look and someone saying something provocatively. We're 25 for Christ sakes, we should have matured by now!

"Yah, I wish we could too. But you know I hate spaghetti,"

I raise my eyebrow at him, and he just smiles that all knowing smile.

"How did you know that the spaghetti is what I wanted?"

"Oh please, it was the only thing on this menu that came with some sort of bread... That was toasted. Logan, you should really give me a little more credit than that."

"So you don't want to share then?" I ask with a pouty face that comes off nowhere near as good as Carlos' or Katie's puppy-dog face.

He rolls his eyes from across the table and loosens the blue tie he's wearing a little bit, allowing just a little more room to breathe.

"Dude, I just told you. You know I hate spaghetti!" He laughs, picking up a piece of bread from the small basket and tearing it open, nibbling it gently.

"Still think the noodles look like little long worms that will eat your skin, like the ones you used to have nightmares about as a kid?"

Carlos furiously nods, a smile tugging his lips. I laugh and just shrug.

"Nahh, well. One day we'll find something to share."

Carlos turns back to his menu, just in case there was something else that he didn't see, and might want instead. He is one of those people who has to look through the menu at least 8 times before completely deciding what he wants to order.

He grabs for another piece of bread as he reads over the written words for the 6th time, and I follow his movements, grabbing my own bread.

Damn, it smells good.

I watch as he reads it for the 7th... 8th... 9th time that evening, and slams it shut for the final time.

"So, the steak with baked potato?"

"Nope! The steak with baked potato and yam fries."

"Oh, so much different!"

"You know it!"

We both reach for the basket of bread, only for our hands to touch in the middle where we realize that we've already eaten all the delicious pieces.

But, even in the empty space, our hands remain together. Watching Carlos' every movement, I lift my finger and graze the thumb of his hand, and I can tell immediately that it sends shivers down his spine.

I smile widely, my job accomplished as I take slide my hand away from his.

"So, Carlos- see any good movies lately?" I ask, just as the waiter comes and interrupts us with more hot bread slices in a fancy basket and asks us orders.

"Oh, umm!" Carlos begins, making that "Mmmm-ing' noise as he decides. "I will go withhhh... The spaghetti and meatballs, extra large and we'll just share." Carlos says to the waiter and pointing towards me. The man beside us nods graciously and turns to me, making sure that Carlos ordering my meal is alright. I'm in shock, but somehow I manage to nod.. The tall man in a suit smiles and says 'One extra large spaghetti and meatballs coming right up!" before taking away our menus.

Carlos smiles, and then his eyebrows shoot upward cutely, as if just remembering one more thing. He turns to the parting waiter, asking, "And can I get a side of baked potato too, please?" The waiter nods pleasantly, and leaves our table to help another customer.

My eyes are still wide from confusion.

…. What the hell just happened?

"Wha- Carlos? ! But you hate spaghetti!"

Carlos shrugs and smiles. He reaches across the table and tugs my arm until it is flat on the covered wood. He moves the cloth of my shirt around my arm upwards, so my pale skin is showing. He then uses his middle finger and pointer finger and walks slowly from my elbow to my palm, where he intertwines our fingers together.

"I decided that I need to face my fears at some point, and with you here, I think I'll be able to do that."

I want to smile, I want my heart to melt at his chosen words, but I have just one more question that needs to be asked before I do so.

"And there isn't any other reason?"

"... Well, we do get 2 pieces of garlic toast if I ordered the same meal, and I know how much you like your toast."

He squeezes my hand, and I do finally melt. I shoot my upper body across the sparing table, and with my one free hand lift up Carlos' chin and tug him in for a kiss.

I can feel him sigh with happiness, and I can't help but be happy as well.

In my mind, I've finally done something for Carlos. I kissed him, something he wanted even if he wouldn't tell me. I kissed him, ignoring all the strange stares of the crowd around us, and the taunting words of my brain, pestering me about Camille.

* * *

**(James' POV)**

The first thing I notice as I finish my shift is the cold breeze that hits my skin hard. I tighten the jacket surrounding my arms so it clings just a little closer to my chest.

My body aches from the long night spent swinging around poles and dancing like a slut, behaving like a slut and just being a manwhore in general. It's my job, it pays for my drugs and for Ali's to-highly-priced child support, which she doesn't even need.

It's around 4 am. It's dusk, and not the dawn sky I wanted and usually do see. I don't know, but I like seeing the sun beginning to shine day after day, no matter how horrible it is. I like the odd mornings when those pesky clouds fight for an audience in the sky, invading the sun's time, and yet it always comes back, no matter the clouds or hurricanes or anything else that tries to get in its way. It will always come back.

For a while, it was the only constant in my life.

Looking at it that way, it's hopeful. Keep moving forward even when the times are most rough.

... I stole all of Evan's stuff, anything and everything, and he has yet to notice. The times are only getting tougher for me, because I know I either have to sell it or use it, and I desperately want to use it, but I can't.

I don't know what any of it is. If I taste test it, I'll only want it more. But I need money so badly, but I also don't know which drug is which, meaning I'll have to taste test it.

I just don't even know how to deal with this right now...

Before I comprehend what's happening, a hand grabs my arm and yanks me into a passing alleyway. In the darkness where no light will ever pass, my body slams full force against the concrete wall. I gasp as my head hits the mixed stone directly.

"So, you really think you're going to move out that easily, huh? Where are you off too, your new home to fuck your new slut? Ha, that's precious."

I can smell the pot that lingers on his breath. In a way I feel bad for the guy, he's like me except bigger because of the roids. He uses drugs as an escape from this life, just because it's too difficult to bear sometimes. But right now, I think he's just high from pot, meaning he probably had a horrible night due to the lack of real, effective drugs.

I gulp, afraid of the man before me.

"I told you, I'm not letting you go that easily." He sneers. "You think that once you're in this new place, you'll find a new and amazing dealer, or even try to stop, am I right? I'm right, aren't I?" He giggles softly as he speaks, mocking the way he thinks I'll stop using drugs completely.

"I'm done with you, Evan. We're still dance partners, but that's all! I want nothing to do with you. Get that through your thick skull."

My breath can be seen as I viciously tell him off, trying to rid my arm of his imposing hand.

His giggles increase and he's shaking his head incredulously at me, the manic side of his drug withdrawal coming out. "You're not done with me, you'll never be, you slut! You need my stuff, it's the best and you know that! You've tried before, remember? You made it three days without using before you cracked and came crawling back to me, just like the little failure you are."

I bite my lip, my blood beginning to boil at his words. Ya, I'll admit, what he says is the truth, but no. Not this time. This time, I am not going back to this guy. I need to get away from him. I know so many other drug dealers, ones that are less demanding and needy like Evan.

Without a second thought, I suddenly knee him in the stomach and punch the left side of his face as he doubles over in pain.

"Motherfucker!" He screeches as he falls to the ground. I smirk, side stepping him and begin walking out of the alley coolly, as if nothing ever went wrong.

But it's a false hope, wishing that he might just leave me alone.

His hand reaches from the darkness and clutches my jacket, gripping it tightly as he pulls me back towards him. I'm not anticipating the pulling back, so I stumble backwards clumsily. He tries to punch me, but I twist my falling body and avoid it by a mere inch. I fall the ground on my back, and his knuckles slam against the wall.

Idiot.

Anger only rises and I know I should run, but he's eyeing me like a panther, any small movement and he'll attack.

He bites his lip, trying to maintain his painful scream, but rage only increases in his eyes. It's like something out of a movie. The lighting is dark, shadowing his body and face, and just as he submits to the anger, the shadows fall ever more over his features, the look of death evident in his eyes.

He slowly turns to me, and I know now that I have to run. I stammer out incoherent words as I try to rise, but he's already on me. He once again grabs my arm, throwing me against the wall and lifting up the sleeve, the cold air creating goosebumps against my skin.

His disgusting breath is centimeters away from my face. He doesn't smirk, he doesn't laugh, and he actually looks somewhat intelligent right now, as if he has a plan that might actually work as his emotions remain unknown on his face. His other hand reaches his back pocket, lifting out a needle full of a certain liquid.

Oh shi-

I squirm in his grip, trying to get away, trying to yell out for help but he slams his body against my own, stopping any further movements from happening.

Without a word, I feel that familiar metal sink into my skin, and the instant euphoria that comes with it. My limbs fall limp by my sides, and my head lulls to my chest, the artificial warmth and love spreading through my body.

"Let's see if you can keep away from me after this, Jamie. Heroin. You'll learn to love it." I barely register the seductive wink he tosses my way, before he removes his body from my own and walks away, leaving me in this state alone in the alley way, the needle still by my side.

I stay against the wall, a crude grin twitching against my lips.

Fu-

I have never felt this good before.

Ever.

* * *

**(Kendall's POV)**

Okay, it's been a fucking week. I swear I can fucking do this... fuck.

Shit, fuck, I mean- Dammit! Sorry, there's really no filter for my swearing... But, god, I'm craving for just a smidgen of alcohol. A little wouldn't hurt me THAT much, would it? No, no! I don't think so, no, not at all... Okay yes it would. My liver is already almost failing, and the amount of prescriptions pills I have to take for it plus a little alcohol would surely kill me.

Dr. Connor believes that my alcohol consumption, at first, was due to me trying to keep up with my team mates so I didn't become ostracized by them, like so many other teams do to those who are 'different'. She also believes that eventually it just led to me drinking away the belief that if I 'came out' to my parents, they would abandon me.

After my Dad was in the car crash when I was younger and the doctors told me that I had to start thinking up my goodbye, since he wasn't supposed to live much longer, I have been adamant about keeping my family together. If they were to die one day, I want them to be happy with me, proud to call me their son when their time passes. I don't want them to regret having me. They're both religious, and from such horribly anti-homosexual, anti-tattoo, anti-heavy metal music, anti-fun parents that I'm sure they'd throw me out, make it so that I wasn't allowed to ever come home.

And my Dad being a pilot, I rarely ever get to see him anyways, and if he found out, then I would never see him, again. I'm sure of it!

"_The best way to overcome your alcohol addiction is by facing your fears. By the stories you've told me about your immediate family, they seem like accepting people. I think you should phone them, talk to them and tell them about what's been happening. You're a strong individual, Kendall. You've been a rock for everyone else for years, let someone take care of you. It's fine, you're not going to break by asking for help. Call them, and I think everything will get easier for you."_

Dr. Conner's voice rings in my head from my latest appointment. Dumb bitch. I would never tell my parents that. Never. Ever. It would only lead to more pain.

... _Then why am I holding the phone, dialing those digits that I know will lead to that pain?_

"Hello?" Her voice rings with welcome, and I melt. I've missed her. I don't realize just how much I missed her until now.

I fall to the couch, and lay my head into my hands.

"Hi, Mom. It's Kendall." I say, my voice just barely faltering. I phone her practically every day (okay, that's a lie, more like once a week) but this time, I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

"Oh, Honey! Perfect timing, I was just about to call you. I have a surprise for you!"

My head in my hands fall just a little bit more forward. I need to say this now, I'm so stressed and anxious. Damnit, I just need to say it. I just need to say, "Mom, I'm gay," and then, well, I don't know what will happen.

But I wont ever find out if I don't say it now and my courage passes.

_But what if she doesn't accept me?_

_How do you know she won't accept you if you don't say it? Go on!_

But then, that other little voice inside my head pesters me greatly: _But how do you know she will accept you? Don't do!_

Dammit I need a drink.

"Honey, just hang on a minute."

"Mom-"

"I just need to find-" I hear shuffling around over the phone, fear creeping against my sides. Her voice is further away from the phone, signalling that her ear isn't against it, but is she still able to hear me? I can feel the courage seeping away.

No, no I need to do this now, or I won't ever do it! Damnit, I need to get her attention! "Mom!"

"I, just, no- not here."

"I really need to talk to you,"

"Hmm, I can't seem to find it."

"It's really important."

"Oh, I think I found it!"

"Mom-"

Even more shuffling, and anxiety rises to the point of being unbearable. Now or fucking never.

I barely hear a click, signalling that I'm on speaker phone. Oh god, I'm so scared.

"Kendall, guess who's-"

Without another second, I scream into the phone as if the words are ejected from my body like a poison in vomit, "I'm gay!"

The voice I hear next is one I am not expecting.

"Kendall?"

My breath hitches, but even after so long I still recognize it; that familiar gravelly pitch from one too many cigarettes.

"... H-hi, D-dad."


End file.
